


Love of the Half Eaten Peach

by Cyrelia_J



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Double Penetration, Explicit Language, Fingerfucking, Headcanon, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Shota, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme de-anon. Angry at England, America and Canada plot an interesting sort of revenge. But things definitely don't go as planned. Really this was an excuse for a lot of silliness and pornography. Shota via transformation of body not mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue of a Sorts

“Those manipulative little bastards!” America exclaims for what seems to be the millionth time that night. He hadn’t let up the entire walk back to the room. “Did you see they way they were hanging all over him?!” He nearly slams the door on Canada’s face as they enter the hotel room. America’s already furiously pulling at the _obi_ as he stomps through the sitting room not even noticing the angry glare that’s fired in his direction. They’re sharing the suite with England, but neither of them expect him back any time soon. He’d passed out in the middle of the banquet hall right after dessert. America and Australia had every intention of taking advantage of the situation if it wasn’t for the murderous little moppets guarding that old fucker like the goddamn hope diamond. America’s hand is still smarting from where the British Indian Ocean had bitten him.

_The grubby little brats are probably picking his fucking pockets right now_. _It’d serve his pedo ass right if they rob him blind!_ He thinks Canada is saying something but in his fury he hardly notices. “‘You promised to build me an airport daddy~’” he grits out in a mocking childish voice, playing St Helen. “He’s not even their father! He’s their damn pedo “brother” and they’re just playing to his gross little fetishes! Well fuck Helen. Fuck her and her overpriced coffee.” He throws his hands up in the air as he paces. “I’ve been trying to get him to discuss this trade agreement for the last month and nothing! And did you see the looks we were all getting? I was embarrassed to be an english speaking nation! Even Jamaica was disgusted!”

_England had a decadent head start on the rest of them seated with twelve of his fourteen territories clustered around him like an underage harem. There were already several empty_ sake _bottles by the time the mochi had been brought out. Upon seeing the little brats in the lobby earlier, America had immediately protested that they weren't proper nations and that England could very well send the lot of them back home- not cause he was jealous or anything- but because they were a bunch of nasty little leeches who all seemed to universally hate him even if their people didn’t._

_Japan had mildly pointed out that they were nonetheless countries and this was a_ **_world_ ** _conference. World conference his Uncle Sam; eyebrows must’ve had dirt on him. But America, fair minded guy that he was, had remained silent until dinner that night. Even he had to say something when the blonde haired blue eyed “child” that was the Falkland Islands had taken it upon himself to sit on England’s lap and feed him sake: with his mouth._

_“Christ you fucking limey pedo can’t you keep it in your pants til we’re done eating!?” Canada had tried to slide under the table; an impressive feat considering they were all kneeling. England had glared at him about to say something when the country at the center of the dispute turned on America with a growl and lunged. England- in an impressive display of drunk fu- grabbed him by the waist before he could move from the table. The dinner had rapidly deteriorated from there._

Canada takes a moment to recall the usually laid back Jamaica leaving with a snort of _“fuck di baty bwoy dem.”_ He decides not to waste his breath reminding America that Jamaica would’ve been just as offended by two grown men holding hands.

America throws the _yukata_ to the floor and then throws himself on the bamboo sofa outside clad in only his boxers. He runs furious fingers through his hair with a snarl and gives the floor a petulant stomp.

“I don’t know what those little fuckers have that we don’t,” he starts. “Has that little bastard’s balls even dropped?” Canada doesn’t answer him to point out that thirteen is plenty old enough for that. He only sighs. Whatever ridiculous thing between America and the Falkland Islands over England is none of his business.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what the difference is, Al.” One look shows that America hasn’t even heard him speak.

“Do **you** know?” he asks the bear lying on the cool floor in his frustration.

“Puppy.” It answers back brilliantly. The single word causes him to pause where he hadn’t even heard his brother and Canada not for the first time marvels at how he’s even overshadowed by his own pet. America looks down as the while ball of fur makes itself comfortable in the cool evening air. The bear rolls over and looks up at him expectantly. “Reward?”

“What the hell?”

“I got it, Al.” Canada goes to the small refrigerator in the room and fishes out a hard boiled egg. He tosses it to Kumajiro in thanks.

“Thanks Kumakiko.” The bear catches the egg and enjoys the treat much to America’s bemusement. “Never hurts to reward good behavior right?” Canada holds up a bowl of cherries waving one like an enticing treat. “Can Al guess what he means?” America yawns and shakes his head.

“Don’t be an ass, Mattie, what the hell is your bear talking about?”

“What he means,” Canada takes a seat next to him feeling like an overgrown mongoloid, the two broad north Americans easily filling the small furniture meant to seat three. “Is that we’re like dogs, or really any animal, Al. We grow up, gain independence, and we’re not “cute” anymore. Arthur doesn’t need to hold our hands... orwhateverhedoeswiththeFalklandIslands... And besides, do you really want to-”

“That’s it!” America’s exclamation and quick rise to his feet knocks his twin off the small couch.

“Christ Al, how many times do I have to ask you not to be so-”

“You’re a genius, Mattie!” He claps his hands together and is already sprinting back into the sitting room to retrieve his phone. Canada picks himself up muttering under his breath and ignores the “who are you again?” that comes from his bear. He hears his brother talking to Tony and is almost dreading what they’re cooking up together. He’s tried to block past escapades out of his head. Sometimes he still has nightmares about America’s “brilliant” idea to turn them both invisible to spy on Russia; he hasn’t been able to look at a _matryoshka_ doll without blushing ever since then. 

Canada continues to tidy up from America’s miniature tantrum marveling at how quickly he trashed the sitting room. He folds America’s _yukata_ , puts away the scattered DVDs, and slowly starts to unpack his own things. They’d just arrived earlier in the day and it’s been a mad, precisely scheduled whirlwind ever since. It’s only 10 PM local time right now but he feels like he’s been awake forever. He stops to consider it and realizes that he normally would have been in bed 6 hours ago. They’d shared America’s private jet to cut down on expenditures and with the nine hour flight... Canada shakes his head. They don’t really need sleep per se but it would be nice to clear his head and rest his body.

He blinks as he looks at the long coffee table and gift basket he swears wasn’t there when they arrived. It looks more like a helping of what one would find in a love motel and he sighs. Canada picks through it wondering whatever happened to the days of cheap shampoo and bars of soap with WC89 or the like engraved onto them. He delicately removes a neon blue jelly ring that jiggles in his hand. _Well that just screams classy._ It’s one of the most poorly kept secrets that most of their true negotiations take place under the sheets but he’d have thought Japan would have been far more subtle about acknowledging it. He unties the souvenir _obi_ and _yukata,_ shrugging out of the alien garments. He folds them neatly, setting them aside and out of morbid curiosity resumes his examination of the basket _. They might as well just call it “Orgy 2011”,_ he thinks as he examines the various flavors of lube and assortment of condoms. 

_Magnums? Yeah, that’s giving Al a little too much credit._ He tosses those aside and glances at an odd little blue bottle with the elegant asian script. _China brush? Hmm, that might have potential._ He sets that aside for later along with the warming massage oil. He stares at the length of ornate red rope and almost chokes at the Hello Kitty “massager”. Maybe this basket was intended for China’s room? He looks at the XXL condoms and thinks that no, this was definitely somehow theirs. 

America’s phone conversation wraps up neatly and with a 100 watt smile, he looks up brightly. 

“We’ve so got him.” Canada raises an eyebrow at this putting the items back into the basket. Don’t ask too many questions,” _Don’t worry, Al, I really don’t want to know..._ “But the package will be here tomorrow morning. Tony’s got just the thing to put old pedo in his place.” _Package?_ Canada refrains from pointing out he seriously doubts that England is actually a child molester in the true sense of the word and merely adds another tally to his “how many times America says ‘pedo’ count”. He merely nods and goes into the bedroom thankful that Japan had given them one of the western style rooms. 

The two beds had given him pause and made him wonder why every nation on earth seemed to think that he and America were fucking on a regular basis- that’s not to say they didn’t from time to time but still. He was going to ask if Japan at least had a roll away- not that America or England would ever agree to be the one using it- but America’s cheerful declaration of things being “just like old times” led him to believe they could make it work. And tonight it doesn’t look like England will even make it back to the room. _I don’t care how loudly he yells, I’m claiming that bed for the rest of the trip._ He’s not sure why exactly Japan had reserved a _ryokan_ that can’t accommodate their lot without a lot of room sharing, but then again he doesn’t notice the cameras that have been strategically placed in every room either.


	2. In Which the Brilliant Plan is Revealed

There was a part of Canada that was disappointed they had skipped the introductory meetings held that morning and presentations that were being given. He’d really wanted to hear Sweden’s talk on IKEA as the wave of the future. He was also thankful they didn’t need to go through the tedious “getting to know you” nonsense since most of them never remembered him more than ten minutes after they met anyway. Of course he hardly says as much to America; he has a duty to instill a sense of responsibility in his younger brother... at least he acts like he’s younger.

_“You know, these meetings are important to make sure that we always stay connected to the rest of the world. It gives us a chance to put ourselves out-”_

_‘Pssh, like everyone doesn’t already know who I am.” America had interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I mean c’mon, there’s a Starbucks at the Great Wall.”_ I was thinking more likely you don’t know more than half of them on sight, _Canada had thought with annoyance as they boarded the first bus._

The entire morning had been miserable. It had started out overcast and rained in on him from the window being left open and had only gotten worse. The experience of trying to navigate the bus and train line without speaking a word of Japanese beyond a few words he used in the bedroom with Japan was harrowing to say the least. America seemed to think speaking English louder and slower would magically make everyone understand him. They’d also been stalked by several police officers eying them as if they were truant students as they explored Shinjuku. Of course all that wouldn’t be so bad if they were at least themselves instead of some freakish preteen clones.

 

Yeah, they’re twelve fucking years old, did he forget to mention that part?

 

_America’s mysterious package had showed up as promised and after a western style breakfast served in their room he’d eagerly torn it open. Canada was impressed by his patience; he never lasted half this long at Christmas._

_“A phaser?” were the first words out of Canada’s mouth when he eyed the mysterious device. It looked like something out of Star Trek. America had rolled his eyes at that as he fondled the dangerous looking device eagerly._

_“Dude, are you kidding? The phaser Tony has is way bigger than this and they actually use the thing for cooking where he comes from. Cooking, can you believe it?” Canada had rose from where he was sitting and stood next to America to get a closer look. America had already opened a small panel on the side and was keying in a series of codes on the alien keypad. “Seriously. He told me they use these things as weapons.”_ And he gave **you** one? No wonder they exiled him all the way out here...

_“Weapons?” he asked still somewhat skeptical._

_“Oh and it’s a weapon alright, a weapon of awesomeness! Don’t worry, Tony gave me the series of codes for this operation last night. I got a mind like a steel trap, so we’re ready to roll, bro.” Canada had been about to ask how exactly this was going to help them “get Arthur” when America turned on him and fired._

_“Nnngh!” His eyes were wide and he felt as if every molecule in his body was being squeezed until it burst. He folded in on himself, knees buckling, breathless, unable to so much as scream while America watched him with a mixture of curiosity and geeky excitement. If he hadn’t felt as if his insides were about to twist out he’d have punched the asshole in the nuts._

_“So yeah the way it works,” America started as if his brother weren’t dying on the floor in front of him, “at least according to Tony, is that it compresses everything in your body down in size, even on a molecular level. It works in reverse too though. He said the military liked to play god with the poor fuckers and realign their muscle mass, bone density, centers of gravity, all kinds of crazy shit. Haha, I could turn you into a chick if I really wanted to. So I asked him why he couldn’t just make us younger instead- cause y’know we’re still gonna weigh the same- and he reminded me that our brains would be similarly affected... Whoa, you really don’t look so good. Dude, if you’re gonna throw up, let me know, cause you know I can’t watch someone puke without getting sick too.” Canada’s only reply was a one fingered salute. “Hang in there, Mattie, you almost got it!_

_“Anyway,” he continued on blithely as even as Canada sank to his knees shaking. “He had no idea what that’d do to our brains so instead this is next best thing. They call it a transmogrifier. Well in his language it’s something else but he always tells me he’d have to cut out my tongue to speak it, right? It took some serious calculations to get what I wanted, but he and I batted it around for a few minutes and it wasn’t too hard. I mean that honorary degree from MIT is really legit, you know that. I mean displacing matter? Pfft, I could do that in my sleep.”_

_He looked up at America panting, adding this to his ever growing list of things he never wanted to experience again. America met his expression with a rather pleased one of his own._

_“Oh man, you look perfect! Seriously, a pedo’s wet dream.” Canada glared at him as he shakily rose to his feet, the boxers now far too big for his body falling off his hips. He had to crane his neck to look up -God, had he really been that short when he was younger?- and then snatched the device from America’s hand, a nasty smirk on his face as he fired on his twin._

_He probably took more delight than was necessary as he watched him writhe and seize but dammit, that really fucking hurt! He was also oddly fascinated as the transformation began, and he replayed his brother’s words definitely appreciating the science of what they were doing now that it wasn’t him being used as a guinea pig. It was quite brilliant to watch in a grotesque horror movie kind of way and the pain had actually stopped almost immediately. Once America was finished and stood at Canada’s own new height, he held his hand up in a high five and the other stared dumbly for a moment_

_“C’mon, bro, don’t leave me hanging!” Canada sighed and reluctantly indulged him, wincing at the sharp sting. “Phase one of Operation Pedobrows complete!”_

Phase two had apparently consisted of spending half the day in Shinjuku looking for a certain type of outfit. He’d never in his life more fervently wished that he had a greater Japanese population so he could at least communicate in something other than half obscene pantomime. Everyone in Japan learned English apparently, but only a few actually spoke it. He was only thankful that a few vacationing students took pity on them and led them around without asking too many questions. He was also never more thankful for their current locale because walking around like fucking Oliver Twist would definitely have drawn a lot more attention anywhere else. They’d ended up borrowing clothes from Sealand who was all too happy to get in on any plot again “jerk England”.

Canada had hoped that was the end of it but America gleefully explained that the point of the trip was to actually get **more** clothes like this and yes they even had their own cutesy little Japanese name too. He prays his boss doesn’t ask too many questions about trip expenses when the bill comes in for the weird, ridiculously expensive _kodona_ clothes.

“So tell me again, Al, what exactly is the plan?” The bus ride is hardly smooth as they exit the highway and travel up the old mountain pass. America gives a long suffering sigh as once again he explains. In his mind it’s pretty straightforward but for some reason Canada just doesn’t see the brilliance yet.

“It’s a piece of cake, Mattie. First we change into these clothes here,” he shakes one of the large bags at his feet, “’Cause they’re seriously a pedo’s wet dream.” Canada ticks off yet another number in his “how many times Al says ‘pedo’” count. “And then we wait outside the dining hall for him to finish playing doctor with the fucking children of the corn. And we start a little fight, yeah?” He leans in with a naughty smile lowering his voice dramatically as if the elderly Japanese couple up front might steal his idea. 

“But it’s not just gonna be any fight. You know those backyard catfights I got on DVD? It’ll so be like that. All, ‘bitch he’s mine’ and ripping each other clothes off and shit.”

“Al, you better not pull my hair or-”

“No, no. The point is to get all sweaty and half naked. Pedobrows comes out three sheets to the wind and that’s when we pounce.” Canada is still trying to figure out where the diabolical part comes in as America continues. “Y’know like ‘Oh daddy let’s go back to the room.’ Betcha dollars to donuts he’s playing grab ass before we even get to the elevator.” He claps his hands together rather fiendishly. “Dude, when we get back to the room we’ll fuck that bastard like he’s never been fucked before!”

Canada blinks a few times and then just sort of stares at him for awhile his expression completely blank.

“So… let me get this straight,” he says at last giving America the benefit of the doubt. “The plan… the brilliant “revenge on England” plan… is to seduce him, and then ride his dick til his eyes roll back into his head?” America’s bright expression doesn’t falter in the slightest as he claps Canada on the back enthusiastically.

“Bingo!” 

“Ohyeahthat’llshowhim,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Mattie,” America says his smile turning to a wicked smirk. “Just think about it. You’re a dirty old pedo who’s finally getting the hot underaged ass you’ve been dreaming about for centuries. You’re ‘pissed out of your head’ like they say, and your wrinkled little dick is up some hot American ass.” Canada raises an eyebrow in disbelief at the somewhat ludicrous picture his brother is painting. His look becomes far more interested however, when America glances quickly left and right before scooting over on the large seat and slowly drawing forth the snow white parchment from seemingly out of nowhere. The treaties that only their kind can use and bring forth almost always guarantee that the agreed upon terms will come true in some way or another. All they have to do is give their seal; right palm to the page. Canada feels a thrill as understanding finally dawns. _Oh, Al, you’re a genius._

“You know what this is, bro,” America trills as he draws a finger across the page, a faint glow of golden script appearing as he moves it. “This is our chance to get everything he’s been cockblocking us for the last few years. Remember those Iroquois passports he refused to accept? Hell even we made an exception and you know how paranoid my government is. He still hasn’t done shit about them, has he?” He draws that in and Canada is almost thrumming now with anticipation. They've both been hammering their governments to work with them on that and this would be a huge step.

“Remember when you asked him for Turks and Cacaos?” And as America continues to add one concession after another, far from stupid, the idea begins to take on a sort of malevolent brilliance. Canada laughs softly as the bus continues its bumpy trip and draws on his a few more things he wouldn’t mind seeing from the former British Empire. Pressing their palms to the treaty one after the other, both twins smile at the Canadian and American flags which glow faintly on the page. Two down, one to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kodona is the male equivalent of gothic lolita clothing.
> 
> The Iroquois passports America refers to revolves around an incident in 2009 and this year as well where the Iroquois National Lacrosse team was barred from entering Britain using passports issued by their nation because of security issues insisting they get either "legitimate" US or Canadian ones. This has been hotly disputed because it's seen as an affront to their identity.
> 
> Turks and Cacaos are a British overseas territory notable in this fic because Canada has at a few points considered annexing them as part of Canada because so many Canadians vacation there.
> 
> Another brief note, there are a few things in his fic part of my own little headcannon such as the treaties drawn up by nations that are only between nations.


	3. Wherein Our Heroes Encounter...

America is glad that he had the foresight to get a few cheeseburgers to go when they had stopped at McDonald’s earlier. That in itself had been an ordeal. Every damn thing on the menu was close enough to English in pronunciation but really? They were french fries, not “furaido potato”. But a teriyaki burger? Shit, that was something he could definitely stand to see more of; he’d eaten two of those. By the time they get back to the hotel it’s already past dinner. Fortunately for them Japan seems to be obsessed lately with serving everything in elaborate courses and as they exit their room fully prepared, it seems as if the halls of the inn are still mostly empty. Only North and South Italy are in the upstairs hallway exiting the elevator..

“Mmm... they’re serving dessert... at least I think that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s terrible!” he exclaims with an overly dramatic expression an answer to America’s query. “Have you seen what Kiku’s done to my poor gelato? It tastes like bitter tea! I didn’t think anything could taste worse than that salmon-yucky stuff Tino served when the conference was in Helsinki...” He looks at his brother who’s impatiently staring at his watch and tugging uncomfortably at the _yukata._ “Or remember, _fratello_ , when we ate those bull te- mmph!” Romano seemingly out of nowhere pulls out a small tupperware container of biscotti and stuffs one in North Italy’s mouth.

“I did **not** eat that!” he yells red faced, grabbing his arm. “‘C’mon, if we don’t hurry up, that fucking pervert’s gonna try and sneak back into the room.” Romano tugs at him insistently.

“But his clothes are still in there, Lovi,” North Italy protests through a mouthful of cookie practically planting himself on the floor.

“Then I’ll throw them off the fucking balcony so he can get them! He should be glad that’s all he gets for not staying in his own fucking bed!” Moving behind his brother, Romano pushes him on the slippery floor like a broken down vespa. “And I can’t believe you just slept through… through that!” He gives a particularly hard shove as the elevator dings again. “Dammit hurry up!”

“Waaa! Can’t I finish the cookie first? I think I’m gonna be sick from that dessert.”

“No!” And as they continue to argue down the hall, America half expects to see Spain actually come out of the elevator.

It’s not of course, instead the twins come face to face with the ash blonde Montserrat coughing violently into a handkerchief. He shoves past them followed by that little bastard America is convinced is determined to upstage him. Canada puts a warning hand on his brother’s shoulder at the last moment, lest he cause an altercation right in the hall. America backs down almost immediately realizing that one, neither Montserrat or the Falkland Islands seem to recognize them; especially when Canada thinks to greet them in French. Two, the poor British Territory seems about to keel over on the way back to the room, but more importantly, the last fucking thing he needs is to end up disrobing his rival; two slices of underaged pedo bait are plenty, thank you!

Hearing the bells outside chiming 8, America is thankful that they should make it on time as they exit the elevator downstairs. Taking Canada’s arm, he half drags him along in spite of his brother’s protests.

“Jeez, Mattie, you’re so slow, hustle a little, wontcha?” _God, at this rate, pedobrows might even be too damn drunk to walk to the door on his own…_

“Al, slow down already. And have you even thought of how you’re gonna get him out by himself?” Canada wonders why he hadn’t thought of that earlier but he supposes he was too swept up in America’s sinister enthusiasm to be quite thinking clearly. He almost trips as his brother runs faster.

“Ha! Betcha think I forgot about that, didn’t ya?” America rushes out somewhat breathlessly as they round the corner. “Well it just so happens that-“

“Al!” Canada screams in a rather unmanly fashion as the two of them nearly collide headlong into France. America’s eyes are wide as he puts on the figurative breaks silently cursing Japan for oh so politely requesting that everyone please remove their shoes while inside. His stockinged feet slip rather predictably, and the twins both end up in a heap at France’s feet. The older nation laughs even as he takes in the two of them disentangling and rearranging their clothing.

“There’s no need to run, there’s still plenty of dessert, children.” Canada sighs as he picks himself and America smiles, realizing that France doesn’t seem to recognize them. They aren’t wearing the nametags or the souvenir _yukata_ of most of the guests and America thinks back quickly to two nations they passed in the hall. He starts coughing, hoping that France buys it. 

“We got plenty earlier,” Canada supplies with a smile. Looks like he’s the Falklands then. “I thought we’d step out for some air-”

“And we totally wanted to dress up for ped-er... daddy.” Cough. “But well...” America turns feigning embarrassment and Canada fills in with a shy smile.

“We don’t really want everyone staring at us.” 

Canada wishes like hell right about now that he’d actually paid more than two seconds attention to the less notable British Territories but hell, England is ridiculously covetous of the last remaining shreds of his empire and Canada hardly gets to see any one of them other than Turks and Cacaos.

“Oh and stare they shall,” France coos slinking an arm around Canada’s shoulders. “Have you ever thought of joining the French Collective?” he asks stroking a finger down his cheek. Canada can’t help but shiver, always finding France’s scent of orange spice and clove intoxicating. He licks his lips unconsciously and leans into him before swearing to himself trying to remember exactly how the Falkland Islands would actually respond because he somehow doubts that “oh yes, please, _papa_ ,” isn’t it.

 

A subtle kick from America brings him back to the present and he thinks back to dinner the previous night. 

 

_It took Russia’s intervention to help Canada and Australia hold America back after England had drunkenly subdued the young Falkland Islands. He could hear the snarl of “Insolent whelp, so help me Arthur I’ll put him in his place, I don’t care how strong he is.” Canada remembered in that moment that while he hadn’t been a territory for even 200 years, he was apparently older than either America or Canada. He didn’t hear what England had whispered back, only there was an oddly telling hand on the “child’s” shoulder and he sat back. It was right about then an inebriated Austria stood up amongst Germany and Prussia and declared in some garbled heavily accented English “I… am the earth mother! And you… are all flops!”_

_Germany, red faced and mortified had attempted to quiet him and received a slap and a slurred declaration of “go to hell” for his troubles. It took the two of them- Germany taking his arms, Prussia taking his feet- to carry the drunken aristocrat out amidst a cry of “unhand me, houseboy.” Canada never would’ve pegged Austria for being a fan of Albee. In the confusion, Canada had forgotten mostly about England, but there was something odd even than that he couldn’t put his finger on. He took note of a hushed conversation before they took a cue from the Germans in hauling America bodily out. The Falklands had raised his voice, called England “Arthur”, and from there America had lashed out and knocked his glasses off and it was a blur til they were back in the room._  

No, definitely not the same reaction to France’s advances. He sighs inwardly, reminds himself that they’re there to seduce England and not engage in any useless -but oh god it’d probably be mind blowing- sex with France, and pulls away with a half hearted glare. 

“B-Back off,” he says forcing his voice to a much louder volume than he’s accustomed and if it sounds a tad breathless well dammit, who cares? _Okay, you can do this, Matthew. Get mad. Get really mad. Just think about this morning when Al fucking stepped on you on the way to the bathroom… or how he ate your breakfast when you weren’t even done.._. Okay, now he’s mad… he’s downright furious! America almost facepalms when Canada only just manages a stammered out “W-we’re waiting for Arthur you… you… and...” _Okay… madder… real angry and… Oh god who am I kidding?_ “Sowhydon’tyougogethimpervert,” he rushes out in a hurried mumble and America just barely refrains from smacking his forehead. 

France doesn’t give any indication that he suspects and pats him on the shoulder.

“Of course, _mon petit,_ we wouldn’t want him to miss out on this little treat now would we?” He smiles and bows out headed into the dining room getting lost in the crowd and America lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The two wait for a time outside the door, America growing impatient as the time seems to tick agonizingly by.

He pokes his head inside finally and frowns when he manages to spot England but not a sight of France.

“What the fuck? He disappeared!” America exclaims watching a disgustingly sober England having another spot of tea. Canada sighs and frowns.

“Probably chasing some virgin territory... or one of the hostesses,” he mumbles toying with the somewhat tight collar of the button up shirt. As they wait, he takes the time to admire the striking picture the two of them make. His twin is innocence personified in the grey knickers and white shirt. The matching grey vest and cravat complete the ensemble and the white stockings are too perfect. He can’t help but admire how well the outfit suits him, even. America insisted on a jaunty newsboy cap and it reminds Canada of the artful dodger.

Canada squirms somewhat uncomfortably after awhile as he feels the slight wetness between his legs. It might have been his suggestion to prepare in advance but did America really have to use so much lube!? 

“ _There’s no such thing as too much lube, bro,” America informed him cheerfully as he squeezed what felt like half the fucking tube up his ass. Canada yelped at the cold and automatically twisted away like a wet cat, leaving a trail of the slick lube on the mattress. His legs clamped shut faster than a mousetrap and he glared up at his brother. “Whoops. Probably shoulda warmed it first, huh?” America’s expression was sheepish and he leaned up and kissed his brother on the lips in a soothing gesture, oddly chaste all things considered. Canada relaxed, hands on America’s shoulders. He gripped tightly as he felt his twin start to work a finger inside. God, he couldn’t even imagine England fucking him at this rate._

_“Christ, Mattie, try and relax,” America said as if reading his thoughts. “Even eyebrows’ little pinky dick is gonna be too much for you at this rate.”_

_Canada took a deep breath and tried to refocus his attention as America stroked his tight passage._

_“Is… is Kiku going to be okay with this” he asked, the question coming out breathless._

_“Huh?” blue eyes blinked in confusion as he tentatively added a second finger. Canada winced._

_“Y-your boyfriend,” he hissed at the uncomfortable burn. America still seemed puzzled but understanding dawned and Canada squeaked as the fingers shoved in harder as he exclaimed.._

_“Oh that!”_

_“GentleAl!” Canada yelped his fingers white._

_“Dude, he’s not my boyfriend, we just fuck around.” America winced and took the cue to move more slowly. “Jesus, Mattie, how the hell did Francis ever bone you back then?”_

_“Noneofyourbusinessjerk...” Canada looked away with a flush to his face. There was no way in hell he was going to tell America that he was the one who actually topped. Thinking of that... remembering the feel of France’s strong older body underneath him. His fingers kneaded at the mattress absently and America smiled as his brother finally relaxed. He couldn’t resist the temptation to tease his inner walls, and rub at the small wrinkled gland._

_“So yeah, he’s kinky as shit too. Did I ever tell you he’s got this weird like... giant strap on thing that- whoa!” America watched as Canada whimpered and came a small spurt over his pale smooth stomach. “Damn, I haven’t seen you come that soon since-”_

_“Sh-shuttup Al!” He covered his face with his hands, his legs trembling. “Just hurry up and finish and I’ll do you next.”_

Canada squirms again as America continues to look inside.

“Is he coming?” he asks looking around uncomfortably. The more nations that leave the dining room, the greater the chance of them being recognized. His brother shakes his head and he sighs. 

“He’ll be coming soon enough though,” America snickers at the joke. Canada can’t help but smile in nervous amusement. He’ll worry about feeling guilty later. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard, but a reminder of England’s constant forgetting set something alight that perhaps was better left untouched. “I bet he’ll come in me first, too,” America declares, the statement met with an answering snort.

“You always did have too high an opinion of yourself, Al.”

“Oh please. If he even remembers your cute little ass is there I’ll eat my hat.”

They both hear familiar old footsteps and almost panic. Well, America did leave him a good opening...

“Yeah? Well how about you eat it now, eh?” And with that he pounces. America as always hadn’t actually heard him and was caught off guard when he was suddenly tackled to the ground. He recovers fast, however and flips the two of them over easily.

“Ha! You gotta wake up pretty early to get one over on me.” he grins down and then remembering their fight slaps him across the face. _Operation Pedobrows Phase 3 is a go,_ he thinks triumphantly before Canada reaches up and grabs his vest, wedging a knee between them and flipping him over. _Fuck! I forgot how strong he is..._ America is on his feet in an instant and once again the two lock horns like two young bucks fighting for mating rights.

“England is mine, canuck!” America yells remembering to put on a good show and Canada growls- a rather kittenish sound really considering their smaller bodies- and with a fistful of hair wrestles him back to the ground.

“In your dreams, yank!” America rips the cravat and a few buttons from the vest and Matthew thinks- as he slaps at his brother’s head- that this is actually somewhat therapeutic. He’s careful to keep the smile off of his face, however and it occurs to him as America flips them and sits on his chest that England isn’t exactly leaping on them with wild pedo abandon as America would say…

_Oh god it’s not Arthur it’s-_ His eyes widen as he looks over America’s shoulder and catches a glimpse of France. _Crap, he was supposed to be long gone!_

“Al-“ He squeaks out far too late.

“C’mon Mattie you can’t give up now, we- Hey!” His legs suddenly kick uselessly in the as a rather effective hold is executed on him from behind and France yanks him off. Canada can’t help but be impressed by the old nation’s strength but a part of him supposes that it only makes sense; he too was once a great empire after all.

“What is this? Two beautiful young men should be making love, not fighting,” he tsks.

“Dammit, Francis, let go!” Alfred hisses as Matthew rises, shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’re right in the middle of-“

“Ahh, but I’m afraid that _rosbif_ has already deserted us.”

“What?!” France releases him and America shoves his head inside the doors blinking stupidly. “Where is he?!” _Dammit, that pedo fucker must’ve gone out the other door!_ He cranes his neck back around to look up at the other nation. _Why the hell would he take the long way? Did Francis fucking say something?_ France shrugs thoroughly unapologetic.

“That I cannot say, but it is for the best perhaps that he escapes your darling little clutches tonight, _non?_ ” He shoots both of them a knowing look and America swears to himself wondering just how in the hell he figured out that they were up to something.

At the twin expression of adorable incredulity the hall is filled with that infamous _oh hon hon hon_ laughter.

“Ah, children, children,” he looks at them still laughing. “Ah, you really are children now aren’t you?” He tips America’s cap affectionately watching him bristle, watching their plans go up in smoke. Canada however isn’t ready to call it quits yet after the hell that America put him through. He looks away at that moment and catches China exiting the hall by himself. An improvisation forms at that moment; it’s one of his specialties after all. _Maybe this will work out even better... so what if we don’t get Arthur? He isn’t the only one who’s got something we want._ He makes sure America is paying attention as he speaks.

“Yeah... guess you got us, eh? But it’s just like Bruno said to Guy, right?.” His expression towards America is meaningful and he prays that his brother understands. “Criss, cross Al.” Canada sees the flicker in America’s expression at the reference to Hitchcock’s “Strangers on A Train” - it’s one of his favorite movies, after all- and he sees the faint smirk as understanding dawns.

“Oh absolutely,” He schools he expression neutral again after giving Canada a discreet wink. _Bruno kills Miriam, Guy kills Bruno’s father- I take Francis and you take Yao... good thinking, bro._ He watches as Canada turns with an almost imperceptible nod as if to leave and deliberately runs into China.

America turns back to France knowing that right now, the game is seriously back on. _You want those international waters, bro? Fuck that shit I’ll get you_ _Saint Pierre and Miquelon too. You trick Yao into signing off on my debts, Mattie and the two of us will have these ancient fuckers by the nuts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monserrat had a volcanic eruption in 1995 that forced inhabitants to flee. The eruption is still going on on a much smaller scale and inhabitants are attempting to rebuild other areas, I figure this would give the poor thing a chronic cough for the time being.
> 
> "I am the earth mother, and you are all flops." is a quote from Edward Albee's play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe."
> 
> The "giant strap on thing" America references alludes to a device Japan owns that appears in "Fahrenheit 451 Centigrade J". That story takes place after this chronologically in this universe but they're not tied in together except here and there.
> 
> The Territorial Collectivity of Saint Pierre et Miquelon is a group of small French Islands in the North Atlantic. A dispute arose over the maritime boundaries beyond the territorial seas between France and Canada that was settled in arbitration but is still in contention. Mostly it involves fishing rights.


	4. America: ShotaBoy vs Rohypnol Mouth! Go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point the story diverges into two roads, America and Canada. Each one will be marked in the chapter title but I think it'll be pretty obvious who it is regardless.

America looks down feigning embarrassment as he kicks his foot against the ground. “Oh man! Were we really that obvious?” The childish voice only serves to enhance the humble effect: something he could never hope to pull off as an adult. France once again laughs as Canada and China leave as if he finds something just so damn funny about the entire situation. Sometimes he wonders if France stands in front of the fucking mirror practicing just the perfect amount of accented sneer into every _oh hon hon hon_ because god the sonofabitch couldn’t sound more patronizing if he tried. Even as far back as World War I when they had that stupid uniform debate it’s never failed to make America twitchy.

“Ah, young nations!” he exclaims at last tweaking America’s nose and in response America manages a tight smile in an attempt to still look cute and harmless. “You are all so adorable, so naïve: like little babes in the woods.” _You don’t say... You really believe that too, dontcha? Oh, just you wait, if you think you’ve got it all figured out then that’s only gonna work to my advantage_. He forces down his annoyance, mentally preparing himself. _Naive, huh?_.

“You think so?” He wastes no time in running a coy finger down France’s chest, the V of the decorative _yukata_ making it easy for the soft pad of his finger to trail down his bare skin. “Maybe we can go back to your room and I can-.” He blinks in surprise, sentence cut off when he feels the older nation grip his wrist and stop the movement. It’s not painful but tight enough to give him pause and make him look up confused. _What the hell? I know I didn’t misread you jerk, everyone knows you’ll jump anything with a fucking pulse... right? Hell if Eyebrows can be trusted even then that's not a dealbreaker._ Surely he hasn’t lost his ability to read the atmosphere over the years simply because he usually chooses not to.

“Do you take me for a fool Alfred _?_ ” He feels an lance of ice as his heart skips a beat. France might know who he is ‘cause Canada had to slip up and call him Al but there’s no way in hell he’s guessed what they’re really up to.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s quick to deny his eyes shift, pupils flickering slightly in the tell that America doesn’t even know he has and France had taken notice of since the Revolutionary War. “We were just sick of Artie not paying us any attention so...” he trails off, absently scratching the back of his neck in another dead giveaway.

_“Non.”_ That one word is unyielding and definitive and it makes America just want to haul off and stomp his foot and scream “what the fuck?!”. 

France leans in, not releasing his grip in the slightest and America catches that same spicy aroma, the faint smell of _sake_ and damn if he doesn’t smell a lot more manly than America would’ve thought. “I know the way you play this little sensual dance, Alfred and this is not your style. Tell me it was Matthew’s idea, tell me that the moon is made of green cheese and see which I’ll believe first. Perhaps your brother can sweet talk China, but I know you, _mon petit_.” His tone lightens as if he realizes he’s come dangerously close to being a true force to be reckoned with and he finally lets go giving America a playfully swat on the ass. “Run along, and I’ll tell _Angleterre_ that he owes me for saving him from your nubile young charms tonight.” America’s expression is neutral even as his heart races. He sure as hell isn’t giving up that easily. After all, he’s never been one to listen to even the most outright dismissal. 

“Are you afraid, _papa?_ ” he asks coyly, his voice pitched more low and breathy as he wets his pink lips and smiles a far more adult expression than he’d donned previously. He steps forward and puts his arms around France’s neck ‘cause fuck it if he can put on some über sub 2d freakshow act for Japan he can sure as hell can do little boy blue for France. America presses his smaller body flush against the other’s feeling triumphant when those surprisingly strong arms encircle his waist in answer. His entire body is tense in spite of his attempts to relax into casual seduction as he waits for the results of his gamble. France seems to be considering something and what he wouldn’t give to be able to read minds right about now. Maybe when this is all done he can weasel that thought reading device out of South Korea. He turns his head faintly and smiles when France’s breath ghosts against the side of his temple, “Alright then, _bebe_ , we’ll play this little game tonight.” There’s a brief nip to the shell of his ear almost in warning. “Just don’t say _‘papa’_ didn’t warn you.”

France lets him go, smiling easily.

“Come then,” he declares placing a hand to the small of America’s back to lead him. “I think I’ll enjoy stealing _Angleterre’s_ little present for my own after all.” For all intents and purposes, he seems to be back to his standard casual air but America can’t help but notice that something isn’t quite right. There’s something dark and ancient in France’s expression but far from daunting it only sends a thrill throughout his body. Okay, so maybe getting a totally debauched and drunken England to slap a little piece of paper would be like taking candy from a baby- or taking the wallet of a horny pedo in this instance but that’s neither here nor there- and the more he considers it, the more America decides that the challenge will definitely be fun. 

The elevator doors close behind them and already his mind is at work trying to think of the best way to approach this, balancing on the balls of his feet somewhat restlessly feeling as about to go into battle. Should he play innocent? France knows it’s him after all and usually the other tends to be the pursuer in most instances. Perhaps he’d find America on the offensive a change of pace? Well, only one way to find out. _There isn’t the nation alive that can resist me when I put my mind to it and you’re not gonna be any different,_ he thinks already tasting triumph.

Germany might have invented Blitzkrieg but America is no slouch when it comes to aggressive war tactics. Almost soon as the doors close, he attacks; he doesn’t even give the other time to hit the button for the floor his room is on. Even better, he discreetly hits the emergency stop, guaranteeing they won’t be interrupted for awhile. His small hands press against France’s chest, fingers kneading at his pectorals through the thin silk of the _yukata_ as he stands on his tiptoes to bring their mouths together. France doesn’t miss a beat in grabbing him by the ass with just enough lift to seal their mouths together, tilting his head to match America. _Damn! I always knew he was a dirty old pervert but how much underaged ass has he been grabbing on?_ Clearly this is nowhere near France’s first rodeo with a young colt.

Oh but he’s not going to let that little shock KO him. America makes love the same way he fights: shock and awe and he’s not going down that easily. Much to his surprise though, France allows him to have his way, indulging the breathless kiss as those smaller lips crush to his own. America marvels at how much he tastes like liquor. _Holy shit no wonder he gets so much play. They probably drop like flies after one makeout session. Christ, Pedobrows was right, he really must have wine instead of blood._ But he has a stronger constitution than that and date rape mouth or not he’s winning this one. A small “mmm” is the only sound France makes and America knows he can definitely wring more than that out of him with a little more effort.

France feels him straddling his left thigh with determination and as he feels the smaller body wiggling with what he assumes is supposed to be an erotic motion he almost laughs at the novice move. But then one of those small hands slides beneath the collar of the _yukata_ and worships the thick, tawny hair on his chest and France can’t help but shiver. Those soft fingers rub and thread, excited as if discovering a new toy and he can tell the genuine excitement from the improvised when America makes a small throaty purr and stops the ridiculous rutting movement. France answers him with an involuntary tensing and gives his ass an encouraging squeeze. Good behavior must be rewarded after all. 

America’s mouth is wet and sloppy and tastes exactly as he expected; of hamburgers, freedom, and oddly enough of Canada- he’d know that taste anywhere! Ah so the naughty little boys had their own fun beforehand it seems... France squeezes the generous round of that youthful behind, his large hands memorizing the soft pliable flesh with a practiced sigh. _No, I cannot say that I blame them for experimenting before the show even starts. Alfred might be a sexy man when he’s got his mouth shut but I’d forgotten what he was like back then, no wonder_ rosbif _was so possessive._ And if America is half the energetic little puppy that Canada had been then he’s thankful that he decided to call it an early night. 

France doesn’t allow himself to become caught up in the act even as he deepens the kiss, his tongue stroking America’s palette with a deliberate and teasing flicker feeling the smaller body tremble, feeling America tense in response, that lovely flesh beneath his hands getting tight. He keeps a firm hold- he can’t have the poor boy collapsing so soon, after all. He’s played this game far too many times and has every intention of drawing it out and expending as little as possible until America breaks. He’d learned long ago from ones far more cunning than America why one must never let down their guard. Ah, and America is so eager and enthusiastic as he ruts against him like an animal. In spite of himself he feels his cock stirring in response to the unrefined action.

_Hmm, the body is so simple in its desires,_ he thinks with an absent observation and could almost be angry with the traitorous thing for finding such a lack of finesse arousing. He gives another indulgent sigh as America breaks the kiss and when he looks down at the flush of his face and watches he look away panting, he can see that America too is trying not to get too caught up in the seduction; clearly he’s having a lot more difficulty.

_Okay wow he must have fucking rohypnol coating his tongue, there’s no way he’s that good a kisser._ America feels lightheaded and even as his left hand squeezes and gropes France’s chest his right holds the other’s shoulder like a damn lifeline. _Okay, change of plans on that. I hope his damn neck doesn’t taste like fucking frog legs or something._ He moves his mouth and thanks god it just tastes like salt and sweat- and a little like Spain come to think of it but that’s neither here nor there- and he tries to remember what that damn thing is that Canada usually does to him cause normally his brother or Japan or England or someone else is the one doing all the damn work, hey when you looked this good that’s just how it goes.

France sort of stares as America begins some sort of slobbering action on his neck and wonders if this isn’t going to end up turning into a lesson on proper foreplay. Lips determinedly buss his jaw line and he can feel America’s saliva dripping down beneath the fabric rather unpleasantly. At the same time the smooth pads of America’s fingers wander over his right nipple flicking, teasing it to hardness while gripping his shoulder tightly, slowly tugging the _yukata_ down to reveal the bare skin. _Holy tabernacle, is he trying to bathe me?_ He wonders when America moves like a steam vac leaving a wet sluggy trail in his wake. Still, he’s certain that he’s convincing enough in this little dance since the other hasn’t stopped and he turns into America slightly, letting him feel the hard bulge between his legs. He can’t help but admire the enthusiasm after all. 

America perks up as expected when he feels France’s erection pressing into his stomach. He’s also slight relieved the man isn’t packing the fucking battering ram that Canada usually is because stretching or no he’s pretty sure this body isn’t up for Canada’s History, or whatever freaky euphemism his brother has for that impossible sexual act he likes to inflict upon him when they’re both drunk- how the hell he ever got his hands on the Stanley Cup that one night America will never know. But oh this is going to be a fucking cakewalk! He hides that triumphant grin, moving his mouth to France’s exposed shoulder. _I bet the horny old pervert won’t even remember his name when I’m finished with him!_

_I wonder what Toni will think of all this?_ France considers as America continues to drool on him. _I was supposed to bring back “company” after all._ Spain had unexpectedly shown up last night after a row with South Italy and France was intending to cheer  him up tonight, and get laid too, but that was a given. Of course America technically is company as well but he isn’t a barely legal asian in a schoolgirl uniform either: or a several hundred year old Italian nation who still wets the bed but he leaves that thought to trail off and die where it belongs. And Spain’s presence means he won’t have to field any awkward questions about why he doesn’t have to share a room with anyone when America, Canada, and England were all crammed together with a bland “ _sumimasen”_ and a bow. Yes, any screaming tonight definitely should be of the “ohgodyes” variety and not “what the hell did you bribe him with, asshole?!”

France stifles a yawn as the wet vacuum continues its inexorable surge forward and America once again goes from being “adorably novice” to “horribly inexperienced”. Ah but least he does have that delightful ass to grope as distraction and France takes full advantage of that, kneading and squeezing and imagining that yes it will be quite nice to feel such a tight virginal hole again and ohhh that thought does wonders to keep the Eiffel Tower from drooping too much. _Perhaps Antonio can teach him the proper way to do this; he does have potential, after all._ He looks over as if just now realizing the elevator never started moving and can’t help but be amused by the predictable move.

“Hmm, strange it seems to be working now,” France observes subtly hitting the button for the second floor. America looks away with a practiced shyness and as terrible as he is with his mouth he’s a brilliant actor. 

“Huh... can’t imagine why,” he answers before resuming his “seduction” and France almost prays the thing crashes. America’s still going when the elevator doors open and France forces out in a breathless gasp,

“Ah... _Amerique,_ the door is open.” America feels a surge of triumph as he looks up at the flushed face in front of him. “I think you’ll need to let go. I can hardly carry you to the room...”

“But you’re so strong, _papa_ ,” he whines softly, turning those big blue eyes on him and he can’t help but wonder is this truly American seduction at its finest? _Ah, but I should not hold it against him; it’s only been forty two years since his sexual awakening._ Still, France resists the urge to laugh only barely. While he would hardly contest the assertion itself- he did hold back that 80 kilos rather impressively- it’s a statement borne more from a poorly scripted porno than anything else. He considers it for a moment thanking god that he’s never known a nation to get a hernia. His back is going to hate him in the morning.

But then again he **is** going along with this to uncover America’s game. Not that he doesn’t already have a good idea; the hand which contains his seal in its palm twitches absently. He’s the master of the treaty _coup_ , after all. That odd little conversation that he witnessed replays in his mind, those two children thinking they were so clever to speak in code right in front of him. England raised such devious little colonies. Yes, he supposes he can indulge America who’s taken the silence at _carte blanche_ to squeeze the bulge of his cock in the hopes of “convincing” him. He dares a sidelong glance down at his wet, teeth marked shoulder. _My god, that’s going to look ghastly in a few hours._

Wasting no more time, France steps back and peels America off.

“Alright, _mon petit,_ you want to be swept off your feet by _papa_ , so be it,” he makes the statement with a proper amount of flourish and then prompts America to lift his arm and sling it around his neck. America looks confused about to ask exactly how this is going to work when France kneels down and executes a perfectly fireman’s carry and thinks that even with the help of leverage and positioning he’s getting far too old for this. America squawks as he’s hauled out of the elevator like a sack of potatoes. _Dude, what the hell? Country of love, my ass. This is so not sexy!_

Nonetheless, America is gracious enough to be still as France focuses his attention on moving his weight down the long hall- a small mercy the older nation is thankful for. He takes the time to consider what it is that America could be after. He and Canada had been waiting for England after all, and yet they’d changed their plan quickly enough when he’d arrived. _Hmm... Alfred does pride himself on being adaptable._ Once again he replays the brief conversation between the two brothers. Criss cross, huh? And those names as well... He knows he’s heard those before but... where? His expression is serious as he considers the riddle but America can’t see him. Of course without knowing the reference he still can put two and two together and come up with double trouble. _Ah and of course Alfred will never willingly confess but I have ways of making him talk._ Viewing this far more as a pleasurable interrogation and less the fumbling seduction America seems determined to initiate, the evening seems far more promising after all _Now, to let Toni in on this little game or no?_.. 

His lower back protesting mildly, France stops in front of the door making sure to keep the impassive expression on his face. There’s really no need to let Spain in on what’s going on unless he asks; France is nice enough to let his friend enjoy America’s “company” without any of the unnecessary political trappings. Ah, what a good friend he is. _Rest assured, young one, whatever it is you’re after you will not succeed. But I don’t think you’ll be offering much complaint even so._

“‘Toni,” France calls out hoping that Spain hasn’t gone to the bar downstairs. When France saw him last he was carrying a makeshift basket of the clothes he’d retrieved from the _koi_ pond out back and yet somehow the gesture had left him more determined than ever to insinuate himself back into South Italy’s good graces. Ah, bless his little masochistic heart. “Can I get a hand in opening the door?” America waits with him, trying his damndest to hide his annoyance. Spain was something he hadn’t been planning for although he’s hardly surprised that two of the three biggest creepers in Europe are splitting a room. But oh he’s so game for this! _Hah! You pedos don’t scare me! There’s plenty of the good old US of A to go around!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Canada's History" refers to a sexual act so deviant and explicit it cannot be explained on television or the most depraved sexual act known to mankind. Usually it involves antlers and The Stanley Cup.


	5. Canada: Yan Can Still Get it Up Aru!

Canada can feel the butterflies as he falls to his knees, quickly babbling his apologies in his usual soft voice being sure to speak in Standard. He’s heard China’s English accent before and it’s utterly atrocious. China rises slowly, grumbling about the lack of respect for elders, not even hearing Canada speak. Once he realizes the other is there, he looks down with a small smile. It’s been awhile since he’s seen a proper kowtow.

“Hmm, I don’t know you,” he answers bluntly and Canada smiles inwardly. _Perfect_.

“I’m one of England’s,” he murmurs softly forcing the other to lean closer to hear him. And it’s technically true if China wants to argue the point later. “People don’t usually see me around at these things.” Again, totally accurate. China helps him to his feet. His hands are warm and soft, Canada observes.

Canada looks up and turns on the shy smile that France swears seduces him anew every time they come together. The somewhat shuttered countenance in front of him relaxes slightly. _Score_. He spares a brief glance and sees America run a teasing finger down France’s chest. Perhaps they won’t get England tonight, but if they succeed here, it’ll be a cakewalk later on. 

“Are you alright, _wansui?_ ” Canada asks, letting their hands remain locked together just a little longer than appropriate. China laughs at the title, distracted from the contact. He pats Canada’s shoulder fondly. 

“Ah, heavens I’m not that old yet!” Nor is he an emperor, but he can’t help but be flattered nonetheless. 

“But you do have such a long and amazing history. You know they say that you’re the most ancient and powerful of all the nations,” Canada says doing his best to appear completely guileless even as he lays it on thick enough to lay bricks. His hand moves to China’s forearm, his fingers lightly brushing the pale skin. He watches those slender brows knit as if trying to assess his intent. Canada has never been more thankful to have such a large number of the other’s children to draw knowledge from. “Just to be in your presence alone is such a great honor. And... and if you would tell me of your history... of where you come from I’m sure I’d never hear such a fantastic story.” He sees the scrutinizing gaze as he pours on the flattery. He knows it isn’t often for nations to engage in negotiations with China unless they involve business after all. America once joked that his dick had probably shriveled up and fallen off. And God, Canada tries not to dwell too long on **that** mental picture as he watches the shift in those golden eyes. He can’t help but find the thinly veiled shrewd countenance exciting as China considers.

And oh when China looks into his eyes and sees the peatlands of Manitoba and the forests of British Columbia he knows him instantly. _One of England’s own indeed. And yet you don’t seem to realize how easily I know you... so then what is it that you really want? We’re barely on speaking terms and you didn’t even have the decency to come to the summer Olympics. And you know my history, my children have landed on your shores for over a century now..._ It’s easy to remember in the face of such untried and naïve youth what it was like to be so young. He doesn’t allow his thoughts to drift too long however for tonight it seems he has a game to play that he hasn’t gotten to enjoy in quite some time. Finding out what Canada is truly after will be just the distraction he’s been looking for. _Ahh and you’re so cute like that too! Not all gangly and big like you usually are. Very well, let’s see just where this game goes._

Canada seems to have taken his silence as possible rejection and decides he needs to be more forward. _How forward can a doormat be?_ he can hear America saying in his mind. Holy mother of maple now he’s got a talking America in his damn head! _Quiet you, just watch._

“I... I know it’s getting late but... If you should fall asleep- like Emperor Ai I would sooner cut your sleeve than wake you.” China doesn’t allow himself to show reaction at the reference to the old story but oh does he ever recognize that one. Well, Canada certainly spelled it out clearly enough. But again it begs the question of why and even as he places his hand over the smaller one on his arm absently he’s considering Canada’s motivations. He sees the slightly triumphant look -and really, how premature is that?- when he lets their hands touch and China decides that no, he definitely isn’t going to make it easy for the brat. He feigns ignorance of the reference. Ignorance after all is a trait he’s accustomed to affecting amongst the western nations. Sometimes he even lapses into pidgin english to make England mad and America underestimate his intelligence.

“Aiyah, I should hope not! This is one of my favorites.” He shakes his sleeve expressively forcing Canada to let go. His confusion is obvious and China, satisfied with that, remains determined to keep him off balance: at least for now. He won’t commit until the other lays a lot more on the line. _Ah, the lot of you love to accuse Kiku of being indirect but oh hoho you haven’t seen anything yet, Canada._ Perhaps it’s cruel, but after a few thousand years of this he has to get his jollies somewhere right? America once accused him of being a closet sadist, but really, he’ll be doing Canada a service to teach him not to cross his elders _._

“Ah, where to begin,” he muses to himself as he starts to walk. “Come, come, I’ll begin at the beginning then.” Canada follows and he begins his tale. He’ll let Canada sort out fact from fiction- he should know all of this by heart anyway. Well, perhaps not the way China’s about to tell it. “I was born the second son to Emperor Ku. Depending on who you ask-” rude little snots named America for one, “that was right about when the last of the dinosaurs died out... of course we call them dragon you know.” Good, good, he’s nodding his head even with the ‘what the fuck?’ expression. Well China certainly can be more creative than that!

“My name at birth was Taotang Shi which as you know means brave warrior who’s endowed with immense sexual prowess.” Huh, not bad, Canada hasn’t batted an eye yet. “When I ascended the throne I was reborn Tang Yao- that’s Tang like the drink. I don’t really remember when they begun calling me Wang Yao... perhaps during the warring states period?” he mumbles to himself thoughtfully shooting Canada another sidelong glance as they walk. Nope, not even a noticeable register on the old bull shit meter. Ah, but he does notice as Canada swallows involuntarily after his small reminiscent road trip though the Zhou Dynasty. It seems to strike him in this moment how **old** China really is despite his youthful appearance. _Hn, old but not dead... and certainly not dead from the waist down like that loudmouth Alfred loves to joke!_

And oh, Canada has never felt so young and immature as he walks beside the elegant older man. His own five hundred years or so suddenly seems like nothing; and really, he had become a nation so young it was all he could remember. He doesn’t remember anything about still being human or if he ever even was human because it seems as if he were there before the Europeans came. And even then he had remained a child for so long after being reborn. He’s pretty sure it was around the 19th century that his balls finally dropped and America has still never let him live **that** one down. _No wonder they see us as so young; we really are. But that doesn’t mean that we’re the children they think we are._

China looks over and catches “the look” as he’d coined it (although South Korea claims that he was the first one to start calling it that). That look a young nation gets when truly realizing for the first time exactly how old China is; India and Ethiopia claim to get it too from time to time. It used to bother him but now he merely smiles and continues on with the “history lesson” as they approach his room.

“I think I was around 119 by the time Yu Shun decided that I’d really ruled long enough and had me imprisoned in a massive ivory tower guarded by snipe. They tried to execute me as well, but I returned the next day as if nothing happened.” He sees that the Canada is hanging on his every word and he turns with a hidden smirk as he unlocks the door. China is finding it hard not to laugh and just completely ruin it. “That was when I met Ramirez, and realized what I truly was. We are all destined to fight and kill each other, until there is only one. We call this the quickening.”

The door opens and China’s face is so grave and serious when he finally catches sight of it that Canada can’t help but look at him horrified. Okay so he’d really only been half listening to the rest of it because he already knows most of what China is gonna say but whoa he was **not** prepared for that. China can only hold the expression for so long however before he begins laughing hysterically and Canada realizes that of course the old bastard was talking about fucking Highlander! He wonders as he joins in the laughter exactly how much of that story was even true, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. China is nearly doubled over incoherently gasping about the look on his face and how young nations will believe anything their elders tell them. The sour put upon expression on Canada’s face only makes it worse and he has a steadying hand on the doorway so he doesn’t fall over.

It occurs to him as China finally catches his breath and closes the door behind them - good, none of the other occupants are here- that it’s the perfect way to go about doing this. He’s always found it far easier to slip in when those around him are looking down on him. No one ever suspects the butterfly after all, right? _Yeah, keep underestimating me, eh? You can’t possibly know I’m Canada. And you have no idea of the trick or two that I’ve come up with in the last five hundred years._ Because in spite of his vaunted reputation for debauchery France wasn't always "in the mood" so to speak and oh when he didn't want it sometimes it seemed as if hell or high water or America on speed couldn't budge the man but oh did Canada ever know how to get ‘papa’ back in the mood. A further glance around the room while China collects himself indicates that they’re alone. He wonders if it will stay that way already takings a quick stock of everything there, mind a constant whirl of just how he’s going to pull this off. It’s not like he can just throw himself on the bed and scream “take me you big hunk of man.” Cause while that might’ve worked on France- it was a bet, okay?- he was pretty sure this was going to take a lot more subtlety and finesse.

China regards him with a completely unreadable expression as he catches him studying the space. Canada fidgets under the scrutiny but remains calm. If he can succeed in obtaining China’s seal on the contract then he can create an agreement absolving America of his debt. _He’ll owe me so big I might even be able to get a few concessions from him of my own. Maybe we can work on getting back to where we were and not needing passports to cross each other’s borders._ And oh how mad he’d been about that one. He wouldn’t let America fuck him for months unless he remembered his passport.Of course he has every confidence in America’s ability to manipulate France and get those waters around Saint Pierre and Miquelon back. 

“I won’t be disturbing your roommates, will I?” he asks at last. He doesn’t need North or South Korea sticking theirs noses in where they don’t belong and he’s pretty sure if he ends up having to bang North Korea that America will probably sanction him or something stupid and make him pay for his own plane ticket home. If he recalls correctly Myanmar should be here as well but he was pretty sure that The Netherlands was once again trying to get that poor girl smashed at the bar. He finally takes notice as China shakes his head and fixes him with another one of those odd looks.

“No, they won’t be in tonight.” 

_Good. Good, that makes it easy. if it’s just him I can do this._ Alone in the room with him, Canada definitely feels the butterflies but dammit, he’s not going to be the one that drops the ball. He gives China a shy smile.

“I... I’m glad. I guess it’s selfish of me but I was hoping it would just be the two of us.” He closes the distance between them and is about to reach out and attempt more physical contact- because even he knows that the more touching the closer he can get- and almost falls flat on his face when China suddenly manages some otherworldly maneuver and sidesteps him maintaining that perfectly oblivious facade.

“Aiyah! Then we need food for company!” he exclaims going to fill the electric kettle next to what has to be an illegal hot plate in the large sitting room. 

Canada shifts awkwardly trying to formulate a plan. _Okay, Yao 1 Matthew 0. Dammit, Al has it easy! Anyone can take their stupid clothes off and seduce Francis but what am I supposed to do with Yan Can Cook?!_ Canada doesn’t notice the amusement on China’s face as he glances discreetly in his direction. China definitely intends to keep him off balance and as he starts pulling snacks out of a seemingly endless fridge, he considers again what Canada’s game could be. Clearly he wants something but it’s not like he can really expect China to give him anything.  _Ah, but he’s not “Canada” now, is he?_ Of course the guise leaves even less room for explanation except the silly line he’s been feeding him. And China doesn’t buy that for a second.

He’s thoughtful as he rummages through the fridge. The only British territories that he could possibly be mistaken for would either be Montserrat or the Falkland Islands and Canada hasn’t coughed once since this entire thing started. So that leaves the Falklands. But surely, as close as he is to England he’d have to know that he and the Falkland Islands are... close. Too close for the territory to ever be found alone in another’s room like this. _This wasn’t planned then,_ China realizes and he fixes the plates with an upbeat humming. _Canada doesn’t jump into things recklessly... so there’s something else I’m missing._ He compartmentalizes that and turns his attention back to his guest. He can think more about that after he kicks “Operation Canada Cockblock” into action.

“Ah, where are my manners? Sit sit,” he gestures to the large _kotatsu_ table and the _zaisu_ around it. He silently rebukes himself for the double word usage again, feeling one of those small flashes of anger at England and the rest of the damn European imperialists for that simpering hiccup in his speech pattern when he speaks in Standard or English; he’s been trying to train it out since the 1800s.

Canada obeys, keeps one eye on the older nation at all times, bottom lip between his teeth in a contrived uncertain gesture. He’s learned how to make his nervousness work for him when it comes to getting what he wants but hell at least he doesn’t turn on the waterworks like England and he swears again that the next time he doesn’t care how much that old jerk cries, he’s not putting on that stupid dress. Canada’s never done anything quite like this before exactly, but he’s no stranger to quiet subtle seduction and immediately he has a few ideas to give China a much more blatant hint. As he sits back, he shifts his body just so, feeling the torn fabric of the white shirt fall off his left shoulder right as China raises his eyes from where he’s placed the tray. _I’m cute, right? I know you have to think so at least a little bit. I know you have to think so at least a little bit and I have to be more attractive than some old pervert wearing a cat suit..._ He doesn’t allow his face to betray anything but then again, neither does China. _And so it begins,_ they think unknowingly at the same time

Canada looks at the fruits and nuts on the tray and seeks out the lone peach thinking it must be some sort of divine intervention. At least he can hope it is because he really doesn’t want to end up having to throw himself at China like a cheap whore because he can’t help but believe America just a tad when he says that China only gets off on salty food and US dollars. China watches him take it already one step ahead of him. He takes a plum, enjoying the slight tang of its skin and listens for the water for the tea to finish heating.

“Mmm,” Canada sighs happily, exaggerating the look of bliss at the sweetness of the fruit. They’re not in season and really he’s had better, but he fixes his violet eyes on China and holds the fruit out, small tongue deliberately slow to lick the juice from his mouth. “It’s so sweet,” he explains looking shy. “You should have the rest,” Canada finishes, his expression so unknowingly expectant China almost pities him.

_And this is where I, like the ruler of Wei reply “How sincere is your affection for me! Forgetting your own appetite and thinking only of giving me good things to eat!” Ah, how naive! Clever, but I’m not biting just yet._ China’s eyes are big and he waves it away just as the timer on the kettle beeps.

“Oh no I couldn’t, those things give me hives!” Of course they don’t but Canada doesn’t need to know that and watching the twitch, and clear signs of aborted seduction he laughs as he stands. China offers no explanation as he goes to fix the tea and Canada practically glowers at the half eaten fruit when his back is turned. _Does he know? Is this just another one of his stupid mind games or does he really suspect? Well dammit maybe I should’ve just shown up with a wad of hundreds taped to my dick instead..._ Canada fidgets where he sits: planning and improvising. Okay so mimicking ancient stories isn’t doing it. Maybe he should take a page from America’s book after all. 

“Here, let me,” Canada insists on serving the tea when China sets it down, making sure to shoot him a meaningful across the table as he does so. He’s trying to remember that stupid hair flip thing America taught him back in the sixties but China breaks the gaze almost immediately claiming that he feels like he has something on his face. Canada resists the urge to slam his head on the table only barely when he rises to get a mirror and check. _Oh god this isn’t working. Okay maybe I should just start stripping or throw myself into his lap or claim his breasts for Canada or oh god I can’t do this!_ He blinks, eyes wild, forcing himself to relax because he’s not going to screw this up even if America does have it ten times easier.

His eyes make another sweep of the room getting more desperate to find something. He sees a comb resting on an end table and when he hears China mumble to himself about the state of his hair it’s all he can do not to jump up and just grab the damn thing. Remaining calm, Canada feigns a nervous start as China continues to fiddle with the damn mirror.

“I... I would be honored to comb it for you.” As China sets the mirror down curiously, he follows Canada’s attention to the jade comb in question. He feels almost bad deciding to exclaim.

“No! Oh no no no, that’s Yong Soo’s comb! There’s no telling what he’d do if he smells me on it!” He looks almost panicked and bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t laugh again when Canada almost falls over. _Ah, poor thing, you’re still a thousand years too early to defeat me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Ai of Han had a male love named Dong Xian. Historians refer to their love as the "passion of the cut sleeve" because of the following story: The two lover had fallen asleep on the emperor's bed after a long nap and when the Emperor awoke rather than wake his sleeping lover who was laying on his sleeve, he cut the sleeve off instead. 
> 
> Another story goes that in ancient times Mizi Xia won the favor of the ruler of Wei. In one story the two men were walking in an orchard and Mizi Xia took a bite of a peach and gave it to his ruler half eaten because it was so sweet he wanted to share. This also ties into the title; Love of the Half Eaten Peach” is a coy reference to homosexuality.
> 
> wansui was a means of address used traditionally with Emperors and means “ten thousand years”


	6. America: Pedo Wars, The Empire Strokes Back!

From inside, Spain mutes the television, the pop idol on screen seeming far more attractive now that he doesn’t hear her mediocre singing voice. He shifts on the floor cushion wincing as he stands, putting fingers to his sore left side. Yup, it’s definitely still tender. Romano’s headbutt has gotten more potent as he’s gotten older; Spain can’t help but smile. “Accidentally” crawling into the wrong bed last night had still been worth it. “Accidentally” running his hands over the sleeping South Italy’s body doubly so. _Hmm, but Lovi isn’t quite as soft as he used to be,_ he muses to himself walking over to the door with bare feet. He’s foregone the traditional _yukata_ of the inn in favor of a lazy green t shirt and pair of short gray spandex shorts that he loves kicking around in. Romano never fails to complain about how indecent they are and yet somehow that makes it even more fun. The other is just so cute when he’s flustered.

_“Would you put some real clothes on, we don’t need to spend the entire week staring at your fucking package!” He’d merely smiled, sitting back on the couch with the cycling magazine catching the pillow Romano had thrown without so much as looking up._

_“Thank you Lovi!” he chirped, sitting back propping a leg up to let the other get a better look because clearly he wouldn’t be looking if he really didn’t want to see. He heard Romano yelling at his brother ”Dammit, don’t encourage him by looking!” and brought the magazine up higher to hide the small grin. Ah, so North Italy liked looking at him too? Oh this weekend was shaping up with so many possibilities..._

_“Waah! Lovi I can’t see!” Spain hadn’t looked up again until he’d heard the crash and watched both of them rolling around on the floor covered in what appeared to be Bavarian cream. Well that was certainly a welcome surprise. He could read about the new Civia Halstead later, there was happy shirtless Italian mischief afoot! He didn’t question the whys of the confection, both brothers were notorious snackers after all and ohh a little pudge would definitely soften them both up._

_“If it’s a wrestling match you two want you should’ve asked!” He smiled wide,, arms extended for them both only stopping at the overturned bowl over his head and Romano swearing up a blue streak. He licked his fingers off thinking it was definitely worth it when Veneziano offered to help clean him off._  

And right now, Spain is expecting to see France with at least two young women hanging off him like the time they roomed together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Now that was a vacation! It was a shame that Neither Italy could join him. Veneziano wanted to watch the parade in Düsseldorf and he couldn’t convince Romano that he’d have a much better time in America. Really, turning down wine and women to spend two weeks in Germany eating wurst, what a terrible influence the other nation was on his boys... Had Germany somehow seduced them both into his bed? No, certainly not Germany but Prussia definitely is on his list for that and oh, Austria too can be such a little minx when he puts his mind to it. Spain still wonders sometimes and he finds his mind wandering again as he slowly opens the door tonight just what delectable little humans France will be bringing back. Instead he sees a sullen looking young nation slung around France’s shoulders like a sack of rice. Spain blinks, stepping out of the way as France enters the room, practically dumping his burden on the couch.

Spain closes the door behind them trying to hide his crestfallen expression. “I thought you were bringing back “company”,” he whispers standing beside France somewhat confused. He was hoping, really because rooming with two Italies for the last few nights was like a slow, sweet torture and he does have **needs** after all, he’s not a stone and two cute little barely legal Japanese girls would’ve been wonderful for that. Instead he sees what he assumes is some young nation because he can’t think of any other reason why what appears to be a barely pubescent boy would be on the sofa because France may have some insatiable lusts at times but even **he** has his limits.

And America looks up at them both recollecting himself because now it’s not just one but two perverted adversaries he’s going up against and he’s gonna bring it like a competitive cheerleader. He sits up on the couch with a sly grin, blue eyes darting from one to the other mind quick at work at how to best do this. He definitely heard what Spain had said and hell he’s nothing if not flexible; Japan’s tied him in fucking knots enough to have proven that. He toys with the cravat, knees together innocently, his expression anything but. 

“I can be ‘company’, if that’s what you want, lover.” France turns his head into Spain’s shoulder, forcing himself not to simply laugh out loud at how ridiculous America sounds. He wonders if it’s merely his appearance that makes it so ludicrous because somehow America always seemed a little more sexually enticing than this in the past.

Spain is still staring at him blurting out at last, “You kidnapped the Falkland Islands?” he asks looking nervous. “Don’t you remember what Arthur did to Argentina?” America looks annoyed at the comparison and opens his mouth but finds France fielding the question first.

“ _Oui,_ of course. And I didn’t cry for him once either. No, Toni, this isn’t _Angleterre’s_ little jailbait, look closer.” America smiles again, standing up as if he’s on display. He strikes a pose like vogue, framing his face cutely. Spain looks in his eyes and sees the Atlantic and Pacific both standing out against the backdrop of a massive continent. 

“Ah, Alfred!” He smiles and circles America with a wide grin admiring the somewhat disheveled page boy clothing. “You were such a cute little colony, weren’t you?”

America in turn scrutinizes the both of them, France in particular. There’s something about that expression says that he’s not nearly as enthralled as he’d initially let on and as Spain gushes about how cute his outfit is- ignoring the improbably of the situation entirely- America shifts gears. _Okay, so maybe I need to do something different here. Lolita ain’t gonna cut it, they want some innocent little pedo bait I am in there like swimwear._ His glance flickers to Spain and the hand that raises his arm, thumb circling the soft cuff of his shirt and rubs his pulse. America finds the sensation disturbingly pleasurable. _Alright, Al, focus. You got this shit in the bag..._ His toying with the white ruffles of the cravat grows more childish and innocent and he looks up at France and then Spain with big eyes turning on the guileless charm.

“Aren’t I still cute, big brother?” he asks shuffling his feet, casting his gaze downward.

France silently commends him for the change in strategy and thinks that perhaps he might have underestimated America after all. _What do you want, Alfred? What do you want that you were willing to change like this and orchestrate such a setup with Matthew?_ And what was the hidden meaning of that exchange? He considers this as he watches America play his part and can’t deny that it’s a much more alluring picture. For a moment he almost forgets that America has a very specific goal in mind and he resolves to take control of the situation- and then they can get to the fantastic sex afterwards.

Spain seems to melt, stroking America’s hair softly.

“Oh, of course you are,” he all but purrs, placing his hands over America’s smaller ones. “And you say you’re our company tonight too?” He’s already moving again, untying the soft cravat, his green eyes bright and fixed on the smooth, unblemished skin of America’s neck. “You’re such a bad influence on me, Francis,” he laments as he deftly undoes the white silk willing his hands almost trembling with excitement. “Lovi is mad at me and here you bring me such a tempting little distraction.” Even as he complains, he’s already dipping his head to the right to taste the soft young skin of America’s neck with a sigh. France chuckles, admiring Spain’s ass in those tight, short shorts. 

“Then why don’t I take half of him, Toni, and we’ll share the indiscretion?” 

He walks over and indulges himself with a squeeze of that delicious ass that Spain pays no attention to. France glides behind America and Spain finally lets up long enough from the pliant, salty skin to catch his eyes. 

_“Please tell me you didn’t just bring him to get me in trouble.”_ He breathes the words out in French, knowing America won’t understand them. Indeed, America’s only response is a half giggle as Spain’s fingers easily work the buttons of the vest, taking time to gently tease him through the thin white shirt. France grins back as he slides the garment from America’s shoulders. He presses his lips to America’s ear, matching the husky tone in kind. 

_“You wound me. I interrupted some little scheme of his and he thinks to seduce me for some purpose instead. He didn’t expect you to be here.”_ Spain brightens at that mentally crossing himself, resolving to do penance later for this delightful transgression- much later.

_“Ohh... then I guess I better let myself be seduced~”_

America meanwhile, shivers and moans, his small hands reaching up to tangle in Spain’s messy hair. _Oh man, these perverts are on me like white on rice. This is gonna be even easier than I thought!_ He isn’t sure who to lean into when Spain solves the dilemma by unbuttoning his shirt and moving his mouth down to his collarbone. His tongue glides over the faint outline with a feathery lightness making the young body react accordingly. America tips his head back and whimpers when France nips at his earlobe; the sensitive nerves sending a tremor through his entire body. It occurs to him in some faint part of his mind that yes, he’s going to have to let himself get aroused to do this but oh god he didn’t think it was gonna be this fucking hard; no pun intended.

And it **is** totally fucking hard, too. America wonders if it’s a side effect of the condensed mass or if he’s more turned on than he thought he’d be. Somehow his shirt disappears without him noticing and he wonders if that’s some sort of French magic trick.

“H-hey,” he gasps out, his fingers tightening in the soft brown locks threaded through his fingers. “No fair, you guys are still dressed.” France laughs softly at that, looking over America’s shoulder.

“Ah, but of course you’re right... perhaps we should remedy that, yes?” America almost falls backwards when France moves, blinking at the loss of contact when Spain pulls back as well. “Shall I assist you, Toni?” France asks, already pushing the t shirt up, greedy hands brushing over his stomach as he does so. 

“Of course!” He lifts his arms above his head obediently and America wonders if they do this all the damn time. They move naturally in sync as France pulls the fabric up making sure to leave a nice view of the hard tanned stomach and holy shit, was Spain really hiding all that under his clothes? 

America can’t help but notice after oggling Spain’s goodies that France seems to be paying an unnecessary amount of attention to the other’s chest and even as he stands behind him America can see the leer over Spain’s shoulder as France watches America and presses his mouth to Spain’s neck lightly ignoring the soft snicker.

“Ahh... Francis you know that tickles,” he complains and swats at those wandering hands. “Take that _kimono_ off already I don’t want to be the only one here naked!” And oh does America watch those abs tighten and contract as Spain laughs and he mentally smacks himself. _Okay, don’t lose focus. Jeez it’s not like you’ve never seen naked guys before and he’s so got nothing on those guys in that hot Amsterdam Twinkfest DVD..._

Except it’s not some overpaid barely legal actor that looks at him with brilliant green eyes and a lazy smile completely unaware that the French douche behind him is totally feeling him the fuck up. America shifts as he listens to Spain sigh and tip his head back while France hooks thumbs into those shorts- those damn second skin shorts- like it’s America who’s the target and not him. And god if America doesn’t just totally forget the whole reason he’s there and wonders wildly if France isn’t just gonna fuck Spain right in front of him and make him watch. And watch he does as France lightly nips Spain’s neck in spite of the soft protest of “Francis I think poor Alfred’s gonna be jealous,” and fuck yes America’s jealous! _Hey you stupid old pedos, I’m the one you’re supposed to be crawling all over, not each other!_

He just barely holds back the sour expression as he watches the two of them, his shirt still half undone. _Ignore me, will you? Oh we’ll just see about that!_ America merely looks hesitant, uncertain as he starts to unbutton the remaining buttons of the linen shirt looking up from under dark lashes.

“So... I should do like this too?” he asks, making sure to pitch his voice just a touch higher- not that it isn’t already rather childish but hey all’s fair in love and screwing people over right?- as he lets the fabric slip from his shoulders. His small fingers entwine in the tie and he notices the two jerks finally fucking stop and look at him now. “Sorry... I can’t seem to undo this knot...” He almost laughs, masking it as a hiccup as Spain slips out of France’s clutches so fast the other nearly falls over and kneels down in front of him looking up. 

“Oh of course, Alfred, that was so rude of me...” And Spain is paying him so much more attention with his hands running up America’s sides that he wonders if Canada would kill him for just throwing the whole idea out and enjoying the ride. But dammit Canada might get over it but the thought of letting France win just needles at him- and oh how that jerk fucking rubbed it in when they stopped calling them “freedom fries”. So yeah Spain is gonna have to go. America sighs, letting him think it’s out of simple shyness or desire or what the hell ever and damn but Spain takes his time in finally putting his hands over America’s to slowly undo that little scrap of fabric. “It goes like this... Alfred.” American can’t help but notice the hitch in his voice, the way those green eyes are completely focused on their hands and America’s skin, shaking just slightly like a damn addict and America looks to France wondering if he knows just what the hell is up with that.

_Ah, Toni,_ France thinks with a sigh, _you always did have such a weakness for innocent little nations._ But Spain’s little underaged addiction allows him to take a mental step back and observe and completely delight in America’s little emotional tug of war. He also appreciates the way America’s hands grab at Spain’s shoulders, the way his knees knock together when Spain mouth moves to taste one of those perky little pink nipples and really, if America had played it like this from the get go it would’ve been far more enticing. _But this is not playing where that was..._ And with that thought, France unbelts the _yukata_ and lets it drop to the floor. He stands up a bit straighter when America catches sight of him and those blue eyes go wide when they catch sight of the Eiffel Tower in all its glory. _Oh, you like that, do you, Alfred?_ Completely unashamed he slowly takes his cock in hand and strokes, letting America get a perfect view of his hand sliding languidly up and down the shaft.

“How does he taste, Toni?” France asks, smirking when Spain draws that nub between his teeth harder and makes America whine and close his eyes.

“Oh he tastes perfect, Francis,” Spain answers quickly and shit if his hands don’t just feel so big when they move and fan out over America’s back. And damn is America ever glad that Spain’s arms are around him because he’s sure that he’d have fallen over by this point if they weren’t. He wonders if Spain really is that fucking built or if it just seems that way because America’s body is so much smaller and then decides he’ll leave that question to the fucking philosophers because Spain is groping his ass, not wasting any time in spreading him and _okay Al, pull it together, think, you need to get Francis not this guy and shitshitshit how am I supposed to get him to stop I don’t even_ ** _want_** _him to stop..._ America worries his lower lip between his teeth and he forces himself to look at France again: France with that fucking gorgeous uncut cock. 

“D-don’t you want me, _papa?_ ” he asks with perfect innocence, face tinged with the flush of passion and ohhh yes he’s playing the game far more seriously now whether he realizes it or not. France hears Spain groan as America’s small hands knead at his shoulders and really thinks for the time being he could be content just to watch the two of them because really, what was hotter than Spain and a deliciously young America? Not for the first time he wonders if he should’ve seduced him during the Revolution because as delectable as Canada was, surely America would’ve been just as wonderful. And at that thought France can’t help but let his mind wander back to the two of them standing in the hallway as he sits back on the couch and just imagines what it would be like to have two sinfully young bodies intertwined with his, both of those small pink mouths on his cock at the same time worshipping it. _My God why did I ever let Matthew run off with Yao? Surely he won’t have half the imagination or drive that the boy deserves._ Oh but America asked him a question and as France watches him, still stroking, tugging that generous foreskin up over the head of his sensitive cockhead he looks at him lustily, eyes dark and desirous.

“Of course, _papa_ desires you, _mon petit_... But you look so perfect there with Toni ravishing you how can I do anything but watch?” Spain hears him dimly speaking to America and even as he moves his mouth from one nipple to the other thoroughly enjoying his little present, he almost laughs. _Haha, Francis, you always did know just how to play them perfectly... I wonder if Al would let us borrow whatever he used to make himself so young? Lovi would look adorable..._ But then again South Italy wouldn’t be nearly this pliant and right now Spain certainly could appreciate a partner who requires just a tad less... “work”. France is such a good friend, Spain thinks to himself as he kneads the soft flesh of America’s ass, squeezes it together, spreads him, fingers digging in and he really will have to take him from behind so he can admire that ripe little bottom as he shoves his cock in and hmm does that thought just make him shiver. Sucking, biting America’ right nipple, he pulls back just long enough to admire his handiwork- oh how red and swollen it is, must lick it better!

America whines, head bowed and he half hears France answering him and dammit dammit, why does England have to be such a “wham bam get the fuck out of my bed” asshole whenever they fuck ‘cause no one ever prepared America for such a vicious overload of his nerves especially not “no touch” Japan. And Spain even smells good too; when America bows his head, half hunched over he can smell the honey of his shampoo and he’s warm and hard and “ohgodohgodohgod…” America wishes he could take these stupid pants off and just grind and rub against him- naked cock against that hard, smooth chest. “A-ant-t-…” he can’t seem to get the words out and really he can’t quite remember what the hell he was even going to say except it might have “stop” or “don’t stop” or “please sweet Jesus fuck me ‘cause for whatever weird reason the superficial change of body seems to have made everything that much more intense and he really thinks he’ll just come from Spain’s tongue on his nipples alone ‘cause fuck New York City and Los Angeles never saw so much action.

"Do you have any of those little metal clips, Francis?" Spain asks suddenly in between the quick teasing swipes of his tongue. America blinks, trying to focus and when Spain continues with "These would look so cute pinched off with them" he finds himself coming back down hard. _Whoa, slow the damn pedo bus down, you are_ ** _not_** _getting freaky with the whips and chains!_

"I have a few things in the bedroom," France answers languidly and America can't keep his eyes from widening and the lump of apprehension forming in his gut. He swallows hard and looks at France incredulously. _Are you fucking crazy?! If you think for one minute I’m gonna…_ And then France raises an eyebrow as he sits back on that sofa so smugly as if to ask “how far are you willing to go for this?” _You snail eating old pedo bastard you think this is it, don’t you? You don’t think I’ll take this as far as I need to? Well fuck you, Pepe le Pervert, think again._

Spain sees America’s brief flash of panic and looks over at France concerned.

“Well, maybe we can just skip that and-“

“You don’t have to do that, big brother,” America cuts in looking at him with big wide eyes and dammit he knows he looks adorable when he does that so it better fucking work. “If… if it would make you happy then I bet I’ll really like it.” He nods enthusiastically and mentally pats himself on the back for how earnest he made that sound. He even resists the urge the stick his tongue out at France. “But I wish _papa_ would play with me too.” He twists the ball of his foot on the ground in an affectation he’s sure is cute as hell and puts the ball back into France’s court ‘cause he sure as fuck isn’t going to wear the bastard out if he’s just sitting there jacking off even as hot as it looks ‘cause there’s just something about that big hand fisting that hard dripping cock that’s- _Jesus, Al, focus focus._ So yeah maybe cock might be like his kryptonite but that doesn’t mean that our hero’s out of the fight yet!


	7. Canada Wet Dream of the Red Chamber

China looks far too serene as he sips his tea and Canada, hands balled into fists in his lap swears this is all on purpose now. _Alright, you want to play this your way? Okay I can do that._ He forces himself to be still, to smile politely and demurely even as he raps the challenge out.

“Then... may I tell you a story _lao shi?_ ” He makes sure to keep some form of honorific; there’s no harm in flattery after all. He waits and even behind the teacup, China’s face is shrewd and calculating as he turns to watch the fireflies flickering in the darkness outside. He’s already put all the pieces of the puzzle together far faster than the Canada can create them. He’s played this game far too many times and for too many years to be fooled. The young little fly might have markings on his wings like a predator, but this old spider can detect prey.He smiles deciding it might be fun to play along and see what trap he tries to spring.

“And what story would you tell me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. _Gotcha!_ Canada smiles wider now, giving himself a slight bounce of enthusiasm where he kneels thinking that he has the perfect strategy to beat him now. 

“I would tell you a great tale, _lao shi_ , one that even you have never in your life heard before.” He knows how bold the statement is, but he has time, and he has spent that time observing in ways that only one who is as invisible as the wind can do. He can sense that China is intrigued even if he has figured it out and he feels his heart flutter, his adrenaline pumping, heart racing with excitement when he hears the soft laughter. Canada’s going to get that seal and he’s going to do it right in front of him without even having to sleep with him. _You’ll be so caught up in it, you won’t even know what hits you when you put your hand to the paper. All of you ignore me but I’ve watched Al long enough to know how to get attention when I need it and I’ll have yours hook line and sinker._

And China just nods, his expression excited and open as if he really believes this is nothing more than an evening’s entertainment and Canada has to remind himself to breathe and not give anything away.

“Great! It would be amazing if you really did! I’d give you free dinners for a week in any Chinatown!” He laughs but Canada stands feeling triumph within his grasp seizing on the opening like a starving animal.

“Ah, you don’t have to give me anything but your attention,” He replies humbly. _Your undivided attention._ Canada licks his lips, forcing himself not to stare. England always told him when he’d fix the full intensity of those violet eyes on him it was unnerving. If anything, China too is equally eager and matches the expression for just that moment. _So now we come to it, do we? Alright, let’s see it._

“Sure sure,” he waves a dismissive hand quick to look perfectly harmless again as he takes another sip of tea. As if he were once more Tang Yao granting favors to the court. 

_This is your last bid, isn’t it?_ China thinks to himself as Canada takes a deep breath. _I look forward to it then._ Whatever it is, he can tell that it won’t be so easily brushed aside with feigned obliviousness and as rarely as such thoughts come to him anymore, there’s an odd thrill at even the possibility of allowing himself to be seduced by the not so young nation. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken one so fresh and new to bed, who’s young enough to still think that the game hasn’t already been lost yet. He wasn’t entirely honest, however, because while North and South Korea are out they won’t be out for much longer and almost if by magic, the door swings open just as he considers the twins.

Canada almost falters as he sees them enter. Like China, they too refused to acquiesce to the festive _yukata_ instead dressed in traditional _hanbok_. North Korea walks behind his brother, a mirror of the louder nation with a red _durumagi_ instead of blue, a pair of thick black glasses perched on his nose. Canada hadn’t thought it was a particularly festive occasion but it seems they have a point to prove with the elaborate dress. North Korea is engrossed in a book somehow mirroring his twin’s steps without looking up. They take little notice of him and Canada regroups and refocuses. _Alright, you’ve come this far and dammit you’re not gonna lose to Al. Al’s probably got Francis’ dick halfway down his throat already or getting him drunk or who knows what and all I have is a stupid headache. But I can do this even with them in here too Whatever it takes I can do this._ He’d trick the seal out of China in front of the entire Asian Development Bank if he had to.

_“Miǎndiàn zài nǎ lǐ?”_ China asks still looking at Canada. The two twins look anywhere but at the elder. 

_“Wǒ bù zhī dào…”_ Comes from South Korea. China sighs. 

“Forget it,” he says in Standard for Canada’s benefit. “Tonight we have a guest anyway.” His eyes are bright. “He’s going to tell us a story we’ve never heard.”

“Ha!” Yong Soo sits on Yao’s right helping himself to his tea. “Story telling was invented in Korea. It’s not happening.” North Korea stands on China’s left looking uncomfortable.

_“Yao ge ge...”_ He whispers softly averting his gaze. 

“In standard, please,” China insists at the same time smacking South Korea’s hand sharply with a silver teaspoon. North Korea swallows and shifts from one foot to another.

“Supreme Leader set out that schedule and it’s time for bed right now so... I really should be going.” South Korea snorts and China ignores him. Instead he turns and takes North Korea’s hand.

“It was very considerate of him to do so, Jung Soo,” he states with a careful indulgence, “But your boss left you in my care while we’re here, yes?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader says you’re the only one here I can trust.” South Korea rolled his eyes at that.

“Good. So I’ll decide whether or not we make adjustments to the schedule.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He smiles, but the steel underlying his tone is unmistakable. North Korea nods and takes a seat obediently at China’s left and his brother wonders how such a spineless bookworm is related to him. 

“You know that’s all he wanted to talk about all day is that stupid schedule!” South Korea complains taking a noisy sip of tea as he checks his tamagotchi. “Why doesn’t he tell you when to pee while he’s at it?” Missing the sarcasm entirely, North Korea reaches beneath the _jeogori_ and pulls out several sheets of folded paper from where they were held by the tie around his chest.

“I think toilet is at Nine...” he says sifting through the sheets.

“Ohmygod Gimme that!” South Korea snatches the papers and proceeds to shred them viciously while his brother, face ashen grabs for them looking terrified.

“What are you doing?!” Canada can’t help but notice even yelling the voice is soft like his own and he’s wondering as he watches the crazy interplay between them all if he’ll even be able to do this. The scattered thoughts are interrupted when China puts a warning hand up.

“Enough.” They both fall silent. 

“We have a story to hear so stop being rude.” He reaches back, pulling a box of sun cakes from seemingly out of nowhere and set it on the table.

“Aren’t these from-”

“Shh!” South Korea shushes his brother. There is no Taiwanese food, only Chinese food -don’t you dare forget it when China’s around- and sometimes his brother has the tact of North Italy on a bender. Unwrapping the cakes, they all watch, and with time to regroup Canada is much more sure of himself.  He straightens up, addressing the entirety of the room.

“There once was a noblewoman as rich as Liu Jin who, like him, believed that all that glittered was gold. One night she dreamt that she had given all her wealth to the gods and was given in turn a stairway to the heavens.” 

He spreads his arm in a fantastic arc as if in the dream himself. He has to think quickly, filtering the words, knowing if he’s not careful they’ll know exactly what the hell he’s talking about. But hell, Canada couldn’t think of a faster story than to adapt the famous rock ballad and so help him he’s going to do this or die trying. “The golden stair stretched out in front of her and she ascended with all the grace of Zhao Ban and smiled brilliantly for she knew that the stars themselves were smiling upon her.” Canada walks slowly around as if mesmerized by a brilliant sight and he ignores the butterflies in his stomach as he goes on. “And when she reached the top of that great stair all of heaven bright and golden stretched out before her. And she found that she was denied nothing: her every heart’s desire.”

He watches them to make sure they’re watching him. They are. _You can do this. You can show them you’re more than Al’s shadow. They underestimate you but you’ll get them._ Invisible, he’s always been a chameleon. Canada has always been able to pass for whatever he tried to be. Tonight he’ll seduce them like a perfect innocent child; they won’t even see it coming.

“And even the signs around her read that this was truly the great kingdom of legend and that here she would eternally be granted that which was her deepest heart’s desire.” Canada smiles at the lot of them a rather coy and naughty expression as he continues. “Ah, but even that which is carved in stone can have two meanings...” Oh and they seem just a bit interested now but just wait because he’s given this all of five minutes of thought and he thinks he’s got a damn good plan here...

“For even as she believes everything around her that her eyes behold there’s a songbird who calls to her from the other side of a dazzling stream to come near so that he may better sing her praises.” Canada shakes his head, and begins to slowly take of his socks and ah, **now** he sees their interest perking up far more. He’s done a sleazy strip club routine a few times at America’s insistence- and once again he tries not to think too hard in that incident with Russia- but this has to be elegant and practiced and ensnare every last one of them so he can pull this off. And not for the first time in his existence he thanks god that his fellow nations don’t just see the body but his geography as well because he might be in young human form but there are so many hundreds of miles of unmolested wilderness and large tracts of land that any nation would be hard pressed to resist. And the youthful appearance only makes him seem that much more fresh and undeveloped and he can see it in their eyes and suddenly he isn’t quite so jealous of America’s much larger population: that slut.

“Barefoot, she wades through the stream, cautious of her fine silks and hairclips, the cold water lapping around her.” And he looks at them and god he knows it’ll give him away but they won’t be expecting it and he doesn’t want to mess this up. He knows his geography is beautiful and as the second largest landmass it’s vast and damn erotic and his job just isn’t as easy as America’s so screw it. “And yet when she stopped midway in the shallow clear water she looked to the west feeling lacking. And she could feel her spirit cry out for her leaving.” And as he talks he approaches the table and one hand is already on that ridiculous cravat undoing it slowly, his small fingers twining through the silky material as he deftly unties it and drops it onto the ground with a heavy look of those violet eyes as he continues to speak making sure that every last one of them watches as he describes the rings of smoke through the trees that force his protagonist to caress her throat feeling as if she cannot breathe and oh doesn’t it make you wonder, he asks.

And as he says that he lets his fingers trail down his throat and they can all three of them see those long digits, the great lakes joining America ghosting over the taiga, the permafrost and cool hollow of his throat and oh the expanse of open wilderness is alluring, isn’t it?

“And the journey grows harder,” he makes sure to emphasize harder, he doesn’t give a damn how blatantly pornographic that sounds ‘cause when he catches North Korea’s eyes, he can see the isolated nation, so deprived of foreign relations eying him like an oasis in the desert and dammit if only it were he and not China that was the goal this would be- _Well why not?_ He asks himself wildly. God knows what America would love to have from North Korea and it wouldn’t exactly be hard and with the way he’s practically guarded no one’s been able to speak with him much. All three of them, yes! He’s going for it, the _coup_ of the century. “The journey grows harder because she can hear the melody of the piper calling to her to cast off all her worldly entrapments and she just… can’t… resist.”

And right then he lowers his head, glancing at each of them in succession over the rims of Quebec as they watch his fingers unbutton that torn and scuffed shirt, slowly shrugging the fabric off one slender shoulder, the gray vest with it. He’s got North Korea and yet he can see China, stupid China as unreadable as ever from behind the raised teacup and South Korea as well looking curious as if he **has** in fact heard this story before but just can’t put his finger on it. _But you’ve never heard it like this because it’s never been told like this and I know exactly what will distract the lot of you._ And he turns, speaking of a new day dawning for her as she stands tall and he lets that shirts slip from both his shoulders and lets them glimpse his smooth unblemished back and the continuation of the Rockies, the Appalachians, the plains that are just as great as America’s in their own right and high populations might appeal to some nations but he can hear it as if it were the lot of them breathing heavily right into his ear because Canada has his scars but he can still keep them safely tucked away and look just as new and fresh as the day of his ascension.

“And she reaches it, that bird and reaches out to grab,” he looks over his shoulder and sees them watch him and he discreetly undoes the buttons of the short knickers where they can’t see, his left hand already raised as he reaching out. “A bustle in the hedgerow startles her as the great bird that her fingertips touch turns to fine grains of sand and flows down her arm.” He bows his head, using an old trick to see behind him through the light glinting off the thick non coated frames and they’re watching still, more intently and he whirls and snaps that hand up with a wide, wild smile, forcing the emotion of the song because it’s been playing in his mind the entire time and that guitar solo is approaching the melody and the tempo that he just loves.

And Canada turns, approaching them all, letting those damn knickers slip from his hips and he’s never been more thankful that America didn’t insist on the stupid underwear too because right now there’s nothing stopping them all from glimpsing Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island as he steps out of the gray garments pooled on the floor.

“There are two paths that we choose, yes?” And he bends over drawing the lines on the table, moving the tray and the tea and letting the parchment meld into the surface as he unrolls it in an old trick that England once taught him. And he draws out the golden lines not letting them form to words, kneeling down so those islands are covered and both Atlantic and Pacific are reflected in his eyes. “But all paths intersect just as all crows under heaven are black.” And he dares that gamble and goes not for China but for that damn suspicious South Korea with a small, soft hand cupping the other’s face as he leans in.

He knows his singing voice is pretty lousy but hey, America did say once that anything sounds hot if you whisper it. Yeah, there’s a story in here somewhere but that song is just going through his head and he used to listen to it in his room on his beanbag chair with the lava lamp going and his special little cookies back in the seventies and oh the fun he and America had in both their houses back then. And Canada knows that if nothing else will get China’s attention, perhaps it will be to not pay him any at all. Canada can already see South Korea’s attention completely fixated on him, hear North Korea whispering to the Supreme Leader to forgive him for taking part in such things and he sings whisper soft, “Your head is humming and it won’t go in case you don’t know…” And he doesn’t kiss him, he just swipes playfully, teasing at the other’s mouth while his right hand quick as a flash puts the words to the parchment. But ah, Canada’s smarter than they think because he’s already crawled onto the low table, his body shielding it, and he can feel the eyes only on him and South Korea in the center besides.

_You wonder what my game is, Yao? You and the rest of the world might underestimate me, but I’m never to be taken lightly. Remember the last Winter Olympics? You haven’t seen anything yet._  

“Can you hear the wind blow, Yong Soo?” Canada asks playfully and he watches as the other’s brown eyes go wide putting two and two together with an equally breathless whisper of 

“I **do** know that story…” and he doesn’t even care whether China hears or not because China can’t see that parchment beneath him as he rolls over, laying on his back across the lacquered surface looking up at the lot of them with one knee drawn up, his hands trailing back down the fine strands falling around South Korea’s face and damn straight they’re watching him and he can feel the faint warmth and glow of the words beneath him and he takes China’s hand so damn easily! _Yes! I’ve got you!_

And China watches him, sees the faint golden glow surrounding his body even as his own amber eyes are fixated on the spread of the unmarred and youthful body on the table. He can tell that North and South Korea aren’t looking at anything but the expanse of raw uncharted territory and even the tundra stretching out greater and colder than anything they’ve ever seen is just so alluring to the smaller and older nations. But China knows, he knew from the moment he stepped up to the table exactly what it was the little sneak wanted and even as he lets his eyes lock with those brilliant violet ones and lets Canada lead his hand across the smooth skin of his stomach as those lips whisper at him to wind down the road he answers back showing that he knows exactly what this is.

“Our shadows taller than our soul.” Because there have been a lot of things banned in his country over the years but there are some things that transcend censorship even so and China knows now what story he’s telling and what game he’s playing and he leans over, the fall of fine black hair spilling over one shoulder letting that hand be led down down and then-

“How stupid do you think I am?” China’s voice is quiet as a slip of breath, so soft, so dangerous and Canada feels that arm go rigid as steel, feels ice in his veins and can’t help the way his eyes widen in fear and apprehension as he feels the full weight of China’s strength as a nation bearing down on him. He feels as if he can’t breathe and really he can’t even move and he can hear South Korea ask what’s going on and the only thing he sees is that ageless beautiful face bent over his own split with a smirk full of dark promise. _Oh god…_ Canada’s stomach knots and dammit he really is trying to move but something about the way China’s eyes lock with him leave him paralyzed and suddenly deaf and he thinks he reads China’s lips ordering the other two because why else would he be rising off the table with two sets of hands lifting him? _Oh god…_ Because China can read it now. China can read every word of the golden lettering imprinted to the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lao Shi is a way of saying teacher though literally it means “old teacher”. The wansui that Canada used earlier was used traditionally with Emperors and means “ten thousand years”
> 
> Miǎndiàn zài nǎ lǐ?- Where is Myanmar?
> 
> Wǒ bù zhī dào…- I don’t know...
> 
> durumagi is the festive overcoat worn on certain occasion over the jeogori.
> 
> Supreme Leader refers to Kim Jong Il current leader of North Korea
> 
> Since human names are used in this and North Korea is the only one featured in the story who doesn’t have one I had to improvise. Jung Soo seemed primarily female at first but then I came across a football player with that name so there you go.


	8. America: Yo Dawg, We Heard You Like Dick So...

America sees France look back at him, sees those eyes roam up and down his body even as Spain has his hands on the buttons of those stupid pants, mouth moving down again and he almost laughs at the tickling breath. America can feel the energy charging the room, practically see the damn lightning shooting out at him but he keeps that sweet smile plastered on his face and as the look grows more intense, it’s almost hard not to squirm because France isn’t quite looking at his body now he’s **really** looking at his entire self and yeah sure he might’ve been around the immigration block a few more times than Canada and might not have quite as much open land but hey, the great plains are still vast and he still has some pretty smoking geography- and who wants to look at a bunch of trees and tundra anyway? Coyly, he puts his arms over his chest to hide the Appalachians ‘cause hey, there’s only so much free looking he’s gonna give until-

“My apologies, Alfred, I have been neglecting you haven’t I?” Bin-fucking-go.

America nods slowly and watches as France rises from the couch with a somewhat exaggerated groan. Ah, perhaps not all that exaggerated, he laments to himself; he is getting old after all. But he makes sure to focus on no one but America and he can just feel that amazing aura as he lets himself get lost in those eyes and those millions of people and the architecture of those cities and oh how he has always loved New York City’s nightlife. And he sees as that little tart watches him, “nymphette” as Nabokov would say perhaps and America shifts an arm and slides a finger between the lips of that small pink bow of a mouth feigning that nervous innocence even as his face is flushed and his legs are almost knocked together and trembling because Spain has just tugged those ridiculous garments off. Ahh, the Eiffel Tower is certain alit tonight watching that delectable display.

America isn’t quite sure why he feels slightly nervous stepping out of the pants pooled on the floor. Okay so neither of them have actually seen him naked or anything and yeah there quite a rather significant something lacking in this much smaller form but hey he’s got it going on, he knows that. Maybe it’s that expression on France’s face, that crazy intense blue eyed stare that’s making fucking love to him as he circles like some pervy old vulture. Something about it makes America feel exposed and just so damn young and desired and a million things at once that he can’t help but drop his eyes or get swallowed up. Okay well this was what he asked for and he definitely should say something or make a move because France is right there now, one large hand under his chin tipping his head back and okay he can deal with a kiss, rohypnol mouth or no or… oh god.

He had thought that France would have kissed him harder, more rough, more all consuming like he wanted to devour him so he was seriously caught off guard by how gentle it actually was. But that’s not to say that America hadn’t been rendered totally breathless ‘cause he seriously was. Maybe France is part cat or something stealing his breath- America never did trust cats- because his smaller hands clutch at France’s bare shoulders as his throat is taut to stretch, just stretch that slightest bit that damn sadist not quite bending enough to make it easy. But it’s enough that America can feel the prickles of stubble against his chin and feel the other’s tongue swipe at his lips, feel teeth nibbling with those teasing, taunting little nips and actually it’s kinda like torture **not** getting that crazy crushing passion ‘cause it makes him want more. 

It makes him stand up taller and higher on the balls of his feet as France leads and lets himself slip out of reach and America can feel his breaths coming heavier and he almost forgets about Spain until he almost falls into him and feels hands tighten on his hips and lift him off the ground easily. _Holy shit he must have like super pedo strength or something god_ ** _damn_** _I didn’t think he’d really do it._ America doesn’t even waver, his body’s held perfectly even with the condensed mass and he can’t help but wonder if it has to do with being a nation or something ‘cause Spain isn’t even breaking a sweat and- _oh oh... mouth on dick, mouth on dick, Houston we have contact!_

Spain hears France chuckle as he himself looks up and sees America’s eyes practically roll back into his head and watches his hands grabbing at empty air until France steps back in and takes those hands holding them behind America’s back trapping him. And if he gets in trouble for this it’s certainly going to be worth it. That small cock fits so easily into his mouth and he sucks hard drawing every high pitched whine from America as he swallows him easily. He can feel America’s body tremble and feel his thighs tense and hard and oh those slender hips are moving and trying to push and Spain just bobs his head up and down taste the salty sticky precome and he just stares temptation in the face and gives a big mental whoop as he twists and maneuvers America’s slender smooth legs over his shoulders burying his face in his crotch, that soft downy hair tickling his nose and he lets America’s cock ease out of his mouth so he can lap at it greedily.

Spain lets the weight shift to his shoulders frees up his hands rather nicely to that he can go back to worshipping that tight, taut little behind. And he can just feel how tense America is when he squeezes and slides a teasing finger between those cheeks and- _Ohhh what do we have here?_ He can feel the slight slickness as his finger circles that little hole and he remembers dimly that France had said something about a plan and that would make perfect sense but it’s just so terribly convenient that he really doesn’t dwell too much on whatever ulterior motivation that America might have had because right now his cock between his legs feel so full and heavy he just might finish without even leaving the starting line. Spain might’ve sold Florida to America years ago but there it is right home slipping eagerly between his lips, and it’s an odd sort of homecoming- DeSoto never did find the fountain of youth but the consolation prize is well worth it- as he laps and teases the slightly loose foreskin around the head of America’s small cock. 

And when Spain puts his mouth there and sucks and licks and god that feels good, America wonders if condensing all that matter down didn’t condense the nerves as well because he swears that getting his dick sucked never felt half this incredible before. It makes him whine and half sob and clench and unclench his fists helplessly because France has his hands trapped behind his back as he’s now seated fully on Spain’s shoulders and he can’t really say a whole lot anyway with those warm full lips devouring his mouth. His back is arched and he’s almost bent in half backwards but with one of France’s hands holding his wrists and the other resting on the small of his back it’s more like some wild contortion ride instead, his joints and muscles far more pliant than he’d have thought.

“Ah he’s so naughty, Francis,” he hears Spain pant out when he feels a finger teasing at him. “Already so wet for us.”

And if France had any doubt that there’s some insidious intent afoot instead of some innocent coincidence then that seals it. So the two younger nations were going to seduce England were they? Hmm, far better then such a delectable present doesn’t go to waste on that unimaginative boor. France purrs against America’s mouth loving every moment of the other’s submission, his arms remain behind his back as he lets the older nation take the lead and France uses the opportunity to taste and fuck that sweet little mouth as America just leans up for more and pants and whimpers and France take a fistful of the other’s sweat dampened blonde locks and pulls his head back showing his throat, moving his mouth to bite at that slightly tan unmarked flesh hearing America moan and whisper some incoherent nonsense as he bites his lower lip hard.

“What was that, Alfred?” he asks in a low husk near America’s ear and stops only long enough to hear the answering gasp of, “Please, I wanna suck you.”

Well that certainly gets a good response from the Eiffel Tower and France growls low in his throat and tugs just that much harder on America’s hair making his smaller body tense and tremble that much harder in response and he can hear Spain murmur,

“Whatever you just did, Francis, do it again.” Because the splash of salty warm fluid on Spain’s tongue is just absolutely marvelous right along with the tight clench of that smaller body and it’s all Spain can do to breathe and lick and not just embarrass himself or throw America down on the floor and take him right now. And never let it be said that France isn’t obliging to his lovers because he does just that and he can feel America’s wrists rubbing together where he has them pinned and hears the whines and moans and he asks in that dangerously soft voice that makes America shiver,

“And tell me, baby, why I should let you do that?”

Does France really expect him to answer with any kind of sense when he asks like **that**? And what kind of iron dick does he have to just stand there like he’s not hard as a rock and ohhh why does Spain have to keep flicking his tongue over that spot that makes him crazy? America squirms and tries his damndest not to just squeeze his thighs tight as hard as Spain is making it because he really isn’t trying to kill anyone and he’s really trying to answer the question because between that hand twisting his hair and those fingers fucking his ass and that mouth and all those hands oh god he hopes Canada’s having at least half this hard a time ‘cause this just so isn’t fair having to withstand some dual assault by team pedo. 

“I...” okay one word down, like a million to go. “I... oh... ohgodohgod...” Yeah, that’s so not happening when France starts vampiring the hell out of his neck and Spain spreads those fingers opening him up wide and it really makes him want to either clench or spread his legs even more and beg for it except dammit he’s supposed to be running the show here!

France almost chuckles but certainly he isn’t going to let on to America that he has any motives besides tasting the fresh skin of America’s neck. But the more he considers, the more America shows just how inexperienced he truly is when Spain stretches him further- sometimes France is awed by just how well he knows the motions of Spain’s body- and his head thrashes almost violently shaking back and forth and he’s whimpering like such a little darling “I can’t I can’t I can’t…” Oh but he can and he will and France can hear Spain’s voice hushing reassurance even as he sees those shoulders tremble so excited and sees the fingers of his partner in crime’s left hand digging into America’s hip and perhaps it would be best if he allowed for time to regroup because certainly America deserves their very best. And America has to be just so eager to get back into control because for all his protests, for all his face is red and his mouth is panting he makes no move to free himself, no move except to buck his hips, push that small cock further into Spain’s mouth and France decides just now what better way to break America than to make him see there’s no breaking them?

“ _Let him go toni,”_ France says letting go of America’s wrists, stepping back, hoping if nothing else that America is a sight better at fellatio than he is at foreplay. Spain turns his head, giving another lick, looking up at him curiously answering back in French rather breathlessly.

_“Can’t it wait Francis?”_ He still only half watches France with a sidelong expression, far too busy flicking his tongue over the taut skin of America’s scrotum and just finding his attention drawn to those free hands now pawing at his own chest excited as he seems unable to find purchase. Mmm, yes America is certainly so much more appealing like this although Spain has never actually slept with him in his usual form. But oh the way those hands cover his face as if he’s utterly embarrassed at how wanton he is or at how intensely the two of them are watching him. And Spain feels France put ahand on his shoulder as he kneels down on the woven _tatami_ floor behind him murmuring softly,

_“But our dear little Alfred has just offered to give us an intimate little kiss and you don’t want to disappoint him, do you?”_

Ohh that definitely makes Spain pause and consider because no sooner does France whisper those words in his ear, no sooner is the devil once more on his shoulder calling to him than the images come, even as he looks up at America, moving a hand looking down at him through lenses half misted over like he’s just begging “big brother” Spain to do even more wicked things to him. And does the image of the terribly young nation ever come to the forefront of his thoughts, that small pink mouth wrapped around his cock, those lips pushed wide open as America takes him in deeper and okay yes, France most certainly has a point and with one last half regretful lick, with one last twist of his fingers in that slick tight heat, Spain moves his hands back to America’s slim hips and lifts him up, resituating the young nation back on his feet.

Of course America doesn’t remain on his feet for long because as soon as they touch that woven mat his legs feel as if they want to give out and god god why did Spain have to- _Oh… ohhh right right, stupid you have a mission here and Pepe le Pedo just gave you the perfect opening._ And America parlays those jelly legs into a perfect weapon of seduction as he clutches at Spain’s shoulders breathless, looks at France with an expression of lustful innocence that’s really only half feigned as he blinks and smiles and catches his breath squirming just a bit because there’s that phantom touch still ghosting at his insides.

“You’ll let me suck it, _papa?_ ” he asks reminding himself that he’s going for total pedo bait here and although it snagged him a rather nice Spanish Marlin he’s trying to go for a fucking French Pike.

France just nods and looks at him amused wondering if America couldn’t be persuaded to remain like that for the remainder of the conference because he really is just too precious. He sits back on the low sofa watching America, knowing that most of that innocence is feigned but appreciating the act as he would any great stage legend. Hollywood after all was built on the backs of great talent. Ah and there are those absolutely marvelous little tells that America just can’t hide, like the way his mouth opens slightly slack, the way he swallows and blinks looking at the Eiffel Tower like a starving child. But just as he locks eyes with France that naughty little smile appears on his face as he sinks to his knees and crawls over giving the both of them a show as he does.

America rarely frequents strip clubs although whenever Japan makes his diplomatic visits it’s become somewhat of a tradition. Of course most of the time America prefers to watch and take notes than really get carried away with the show and one day he does indeed vow to learn that seriously awesome flip on the ceiling trick with the bars- hey he always tries to be accommodating. And if there’s one thing he’s learned in all those visits and wasted dollars on perfunctory lap dances it’s the fine art of crawling across a floor. Granted his center of balance is still a bit off but hey he’s gonna bring it like it’s never been brought before if it’ll get those waters for Canada. He’s all wriggly and sinewy as he crawls, knowing that the nymphet thing fell flat before but figuring he’s just gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. And that raised eyebrow and that dark lusty expression that passes across France’s face before he can hide it speaks volumes.

America sits back on his knees, looking up with an expression that he knows is seriously adorable- he did practice it in front of the mirror with Canada before they left, after all- and puts his small hands on Frances knees, uncertainly pushing them apart. His eyes flicker down to that heavy thick cock , he licks his lips unconsciously and fights the urge to just go down like Charlie Brown ‘cause we’re back to the whole innocence thing right now and America tips his head like he’s just not quite sure how it goes and if it kills him he’s gonna make this jerk come so hard he passes out because England never said a nation had to be **conscious** to sign the stupid thing after all. His hands squeeze those knees, and America lowers his head, licking just at the sticky clear fluid wetting the tip and shifts a little because he can’t help his own aching erection right now.

America remembers Canada making some snide remark awhile back about how much he loves dick but screw that jealous little twerp he only **wishes** he got half that play that America gets. Besides, there’s certainly something to be said for enthusiasm because what America has lacked in talent he’s always more than made up for with raw unbridled moxie- which reminds him he needs to pick some more of that up at the store next time he sees it- so yeah he’s seriously got this in the bag. And he lets just a little wicked look come into his eyes when he looks up over the rims of Texas and moves his right hand gripping the base of that super fantastic cock and takes the head into his mouth messily slurping and sucking and he hears a groan, feels an encouraging hand to the back of his head and hears some hastily whispered French and really, it’s not like he’s ever noticed a wrong way to do this. But all too soon he feels two half calloused hands on his ass and he can’t help but tense ‘cause he has a feeling this is gonna seriously break his concentration.

Like he hasn’t heard a drunken Prussia bitch enough about trying to fight a war on two fronts, America almost curses when he feel a mouth on his ass and then a tongue and Peter, Paul, and Mary teeth nipping ‘cause that feels some kinda crazy good. Good enough anyway that it makes him pause, makes his head bow, hand still around the slick cock as his head turns to the side, face hot as he breathes all shallow and heavy when he feels that **squeeze**. And he never knew that Spain had such big hands- at least they feel big when they knead and push and America just pushes back and tries to remember there’s a strategy in all this somewhere that he’s trying to get back and he’s searching for some kind of focus or else he’s just gonna roll over and surrender. And ohh does it ever come to him in a flash of pornographic brilliance.

America’s never been all that big into porn no matter what his brother likes to accuse him of. Really when it comes right down to it America prefers to keep most of this crap behind closed doors and he can get as freaky as he needs to from there. But hey that’s never stopped him from doing a little research here and there for curiosity’s sake. Well curiosity and England accusing him of being a one trick pony- and didn’t **he** feel stupid the last time America demonstrated that wicked cool _kinbaku_ and totally blew his mind- had prompted him to do a little one handed research as it were and it certainly had left him with a few interesting pieces of data. _Okay, wet is good. Wet is_ ** _really_** _good._ And didn’t that one chick look totally hot with the saliva pushing out from between those lips and America just wiggles a little, makes sure he gives a nice good one and spits right on France’s cock rather messily. The response comes almost immediately. _Oh yeah. I’m so totally the man._

_“Mon Dieu…”_ For all that France likes to hold himself to a rather exacting standard where his own performance is concerned, he can honestly say that whatever mental critiques spin through his head they’d never stopped him entirely from enjoying whatever efforts his lovers put forth. Then again he’s never had anyone dribble on his cock like they’ve just had oral surgery either and at that half strangled exclamation- which not surprisingly only encourages America- Spain looks up briefly, the two pairs of eyes meeting over America’s rather nubile young form and it’s all France can do not to visibly shudder.

_“He spit.”_ France says rather brilliantly as America gives him the Aliens treatment once again. He wonders if that’s some vulgar little trick that England taught him because if there’s anyone who’s never understood that sex is an art form and not a contest to the nasty finish line it’s him. _“He spit on it…”_  


	9. Canada: Oppa Gangbang Style!

“Clever,” China murmurs as his eyes flicker back and forth between the elegant script and the suspended body. South Korea looks up from where he holds Canada’s legs, craning his neck to see past his brother’s shoulder. 

“Is that what I think it is?” he asks, a big grin appearing on his face with what appears to be a grudging admiration. North Korea turns around and reads the upside down letters as well, his eyes wide and stunned. 

“Yes... yes it is,” China confirms before passing a hand over the text essentially erasing it, watching the white parchment reappear blank and unchanged on the table’s surface. China is silently contemplative, his eyes focused on the table and Canada is wondering just how much this is going to hurt. He’s never died before but he has no doubt in his mind that China’s gonna kill him and some brand spanking new Canada with attitude is gonna leap up in his place.

Canada swallows and manages a weak little smile knowing that if it were America there and not him he’d dazzle them with some cheesy grin and some really obviously put upon repentance and of course everyone’s putty in America’s stupid dorky hands when he does that but Canada is pretty sure he just looks ill and hardly the Bart Simpson-esque maverick his brother plays off so well. His mouth is dry and really he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to manage coherent speech.

“I-“ his voice cracks and he inwardly cringes. China however looks up from the blank memo his expression equally unreadable. North Korea of course, not nearly so restrained looks at the two of them and utter in complete seriousness, “Supreme Leader would definitely make an example of him.” China is still looking only at Canada and the young nation once more manages an abortive stutter before almost passing out. He wonders how undignified it would be if he actually **does** pass out.

“Drop him,” China orders, voice far too soft and dangerous. Canada winces as he’s unceremoniously dumped onto his back on the table and he looks wildly at the three of them wondering if they’re going to start pulling out fingernails. And China circles him slowly, feet making no sound on the floor. He draws a soft finger along Canada’s side making him shiver. Canada shuts his eyes tightly bracing himself for the worst and hoping in some wild fantasy that China might still not know who the hell he is. It nearly works too until he feels the stinging slap to his thigh. “So. This is what you were offering… Matthew. Canada.” He cracks one eye open, looking up at the three of them standing above him like some unholy trinity. “Funny. I didn’t think you wanted any more of my children.” And Canada blinks, hardly expecting **that** turn in the conversation, about to sit up when North Korea smiles- some creepy _yandere_ type grin and shoves him back down. 

“Sit,” He informs him far too sunny pushing those glasses back up on the bridge of his nose as his demeanor definitely changes from the shy retiring nation who first entered the room. North Korea looks at China far too eagerly as he asks, “Are we going to interrogate him, Yao _gege?_ Supreme leader invented interrogation so...”

“Ha!” South Korea butts in shoving him aside as he regards Canada like a damn prize captive. “Everyone knows that **we** invented interrogation.”

“So is this the great plan?” China asks ignoring them both, drawing Canada’s full attention once more as he lifts the young nation’s right leg up by the ankle and Canada can feel a thumb stroking the bottom of his foot even as North Korea gleefully suggests beating the bottoms of his feet and makes him almost throw up at the graphic description of severing the Achilles tendons. “You were going to seduce me?” China continues lifting his leg up and back ignoring North Korea, completely exposing him, and in spite of the falling out in the pit of his stomach Canada can’t help but feel the heat rise to his face knowing that the ancient nation is looking at **everything.**

Canada swallows hard and nods because he really doesn’t trust his voice right now and he knows already that he has to be white as a sheet and if he thought there was a chance in hell he’d make it to the door alive he’d bolt like a rabbit. But as terrified as he is, he definitely takes notice of China’s assessing expression and he can honestly say of all the reactions he’s had to his naked body- he’s tried to block out Russia’s laughing that **one** time when it was cold- he’s never quite had another look at him with such a calculating countenance. 

“You really think… that I would want this?” China asks as he moves his hand and turns Canada’s leg out at the knee like he’s some kind of puppet and gives the weirdest uncomfortable flick to his limp cock; the young nation is almost offended. 

South Korea laughs. Okay strike that, Canada is **definitely** offended. Because in case they haven’t noticed his current body is a hell of a lot smaller than it normally is and where they get off making fun of his less than impressive assets right now he wants to know. _Hey you jerks it is_ ** _not_** _that small normally it is a_ ** _lot_** _bigger! It’s the second largest landmass you stupid hosers and I really oughta give the lot of you a piece of my mind._ Of course what actually comes out is a rather pathetic mumble of 

“It’s not normally this small” and he feels his face growing hot like he’s blushing bright red from head to toe and that only makes South Korea laugh harder but it makes his twin pause and peer at him over China’s shoulder like a specimen he just found another use for.

“He **is** rather small Yao _gege…_ Do you think we could?..” He trails off whispering to himself about how disappointed Supreme Leader is going to be but Canada figures if that nutjob is gonna flip over his nation going to the bathroom off schedule he might as well just go for it.

But dammit with all the trouble he’s had with immigration from the lot of them before he’s pretty sure his boss isn’t going to be happy. He can just hear the interrogation if another Asian horde shows up in the next few years because stupid America just **had** to spill the beans about how those things occur outside of normal political and economic factors- not that **that** one was his fault but he wasn’t even about to go there with his boss. Well it’s better than whatever North Korea was proposing so he just sighs and shifts and supposes it could be worse and hey maybe he can still use America’s original plan anyway if he plays this well enough. Feigning bashfulness Canada turns his head and looks away shyly- it doesn’t hurt that his face is bright red- as he gives his hips just the slightest inviting tilt.

“If you still want it... it’s only fair you take it,” Canada manages to half mutter wishing stupid one liners would come to him as easily as America.

And he honestly braces himself because he has no idea if North Korea is gonna jump him like a hungry wolf, but no, a quick look at him and his sudden bout of excited hyperventilation makes Canada realize that he’s about to pass out.

“Hmm, what do you think Yong Soo?” China asks as he lets go of Canada’s leg and steps back with his arms crossed appearing thoughtful. Naturally Canada looks to South Korea who’s stepped forward again completely serious with a hand under his chin.

“It’s funny... I thought you said at that one conference that you’d sooner be force fed _kochujang_ straight from the jar than ever have another Asian horde…” How the hell South Korea remembers that Canada would love to know since he said that in confidence to America in the hallway... Oh right... America can keep a secret like Perez Hilton and Canada had mostly been counting on the fact his anonymity to protect him when they inevitably found out- which would explain why England had appeared in so many unflattering _manwa_ but-

“W-well I mean immigration is one thing... I thought this would be a little more...” he swallows praying to god they all use the condoms in the gift basket because he likes to think he’s at least a **little** more selective than America where immigration is concerned. “Personal.”

Oh and China lets go and rolls him over and he ends up making a rather undignified roll right off the table while the other studies the parchment, calling back the lettering so he can read and maybe Canada should take this time to run like hell and suck up the embarrassment but something tells him he wouldn’t exactly get very far.

“Ohh… so this is for America is it?” He hears China say as he gets to his feet and tries rather unsuccessfully to keep North Korea from poking at his “cute little chubby”.

“I ah... well…” Well what do you really say to that? He’s not America who can make an apology sound like a declaration of war or be all contrite and do that “aww shucks golly gee whiz” like Tom Sawyer.

“You were going to have me cancel Alfred’s debt?” There’s that rising intonation in his voice and Canada wonders if he’s not gonna go all Five Deadly Venoms on him like those movies America loves to make him watch.

“I’m really sorry,” he half chokes out as China finally turns back to him with a creepy little smile that’s far too beatific. 

“No no it’s alright. You ah make it up nice nice chop chop la?” And that over exaggerated pidgin English only makes him more nervous if anything because China only tends to do that when he’s particularly angry.

But China walks right in front of him looking him up and down with an expression that’s rather appreciative because after all, China does adore things that are cute. And though China isn’t nearly as tall as America there’s a certain way his figure just looms now that he can tell is making Canada seriously nervous; he really shouldn’t be so aroused by that. "You know,” he continues, “I've always wondered what it would be like having one of you at my mercy. You're not America but I think I like you better." Because an America on his knees like a little whore is a delectable image indeed but Canada is far more quiet and submissive and right now that’s just something he’s craving. And oh to sweeten the pot to get his acquiescence even further... "In fact… why don’t we make a deal.” And Canada’s head shoots back up at that and China knows he has him. “If you cooperate I just might give you what you want after all.” Might being the rather operative word here but he can just see Canada ready to jump on it. Perfect. He reaches out and brushes the back of his hand over that impossibly smooth soft skin and shoots North and South Korea a look watching them both smile back in return. “Do we have a deal then? Whatever I ask of you in exchange for leniency?”

Canada doesn’t even have to think about it and just swallows down his pride and his nerves and nods, stammering out a “Y-yessir.” Because China seems to be really enjoying seeing him small and afraid and if that’s what it’s gonna take he can oblige. There’s that deviant part of him that finds the thought of the three of them ordering him around to be just a little bit arousing and no wonder America calls him a walking headcase. The attention is far from what he’s used to but all three of them are watching him and he sees South Korea open his mouth and get cut off by China with an upraised hand and an uncharacteristically lecherous grin.

“ **I’m** first.” Canada swallows again and looks at all three of them wondering what on earth it is they want him to do because last time he checked there wasn’t exactly a manual written for gang bang etiquette.

China doesn’t give him much room to wonder as he steps forward looking down with a rather mischievous grin and takes his chin in hand. He leans in and speaks softly with amusement, “So you were going to seduce me, yes?” And Canada isn’t quite sure if there’s a right or wrong answer to that question but he just smiles weakly and shrugs his shoulders with a nervous laugh that really would be better executed by America. 

“Ah… M-maybe?” comes out more like a question though China hardly seems to mind.

“Hmm… so cute.” China pinches his cheek and gives a little pat that might be a bit harder than his demeanor would suggest as he steps back. “So show me.” And Canada isn’t quite sure how to go about it put on the spot like this but he wipes his sweat dampened palms on his bare legs mentally smacking himself as he hesitantly approaches.

China catches his hesitance.

“Or shall I have Yong Soo do it instead?” Of course he wouldn’t dream of it but Canada looks up sharply to South Korea poised and ready and dear god China is sure if Canada forces his hand he’ll be replacing clothes. “If you’re not able to after all…” He trails off watching Canada shake his head furiously, face smoothing into a calmer mask. _There, I knew you had it in you._ And not a moment too soon either; South Korea’s eyes dart quickly between China and Canada and he almost seems to hold his breath, the look of disappointment clear. Canada puts his hands on China’s shoulders looking uncertain and adorable so as he kisses him lightly on the mouth. 

Canada thinks that his heart might beat out of his chest and in spite of China’s invitation part of him can’t help but feel the attention might not be as welcome as China advertised. Of course Canada hardly expects to be hit with a right hook like that time that Cuba thought he was America- and really it was worth it when the other actually made it up to him- but he doesn’t want to screw up when he still has a shot. So help him if he blows this _. You said blow_ , snickers that weird phantom America voice that really isn’t helping right now. Whether it’s a twin thing or a Canada needs mental help thing he doesn’t know _._ But he damn sure isn’t going to let it interfere, shoving it aside as he kisses him again, soft, lips barely brushing one small touch after the other. 

Canada sighs, tension diffusing at the taste of sweet pastry on China’s mouth and he licks slowly, softly, letting his tongue paint China’s lips with a pink little brush and China thinks he’s like a kitten lapping at a saucer and shivers. It makes him think briefly of Hong Kong before England had taken him and he lets Canada take that small lead, only glancing over to the two twins briefly. They’re staring just like he knew they would be; his two darling boys are far too eager but that’s just how China likes it. North Korea more than his twin looks like he wants to talk, wants to step forward and do a lot more than that but he still himself. _Your boss won’t approve but that won’t stop you today._ _This is my house and it’s been far too long…_ China tips his head, smiles lazily down at Canada brushing the back of his hand over his cheek admiring the youth and untouched beauty of such vast open space.

“Why don’t the two of you amuse yourselves?” he says offhandedly.

North Korea’s eyes are the size of dinner plates as he considers the implications of **that**. His face is colorless as he looks quickly from China to South Korea before hurriedly looking down again pushing the glasses back up on his face with an uneasy excitement. 

“B-but Yao _gege_ … Supreme Leader will never-“

“What have I told you, Jong Soo?” China asks, gaze still not leaving Canada’s face and Canada seems to be making a valiant attempt not to look nervous. It’s obvious he’s unaccustomed to being looked at much less with such an unwavering assessment. And China, even not looking at the two twins can see the hesitation hiding barely restrained eagerness- South Korea making little attempt to hide the odd newfound enthusiasm at the prospect- of North Korea always the more reserved of the two. A tongue licks lips, glasses are pushed up again with far less steady fingers and there’s no verbal acknowledgement but that’s enough really. “In my world, only the sound of my voice matters.” A little smile and Canada looks about to pass out again and China decides he rather likes that fear.

He likes having western nations powerless before him and the power reminds him of times long past when it was the great Middle Kingdon who was the jewel of the east. The sun might set on the empire but it never set on China and he threads long slender fingers through Canada’s golden hair and tightens until he sees the wince, sees that expression widen and he just sighs and keeps that gentle smile on his face. 

“Isn’t that right, _hūapíng_?” He watches Canada’s head bob and he tightens that grip just enough to still the now smaller nation and he pulls that head back to look up at him and those beautiful forests, those untapped unmolested wild lands reflect in violet eyes and China can almost get lost as he tilts that head left and right and raises an eyebrow at the two twins as if to wonder why they aren’t yet indulging themselves for his pleasure.

North Korea is shy as he turns to his twin and for all his bravado, for all his unashamed groping of China, South Korea’s hands too are still and a look passes between the two of them as the younger starts slowly untying the _jeogori._ He’s deliberate and humming softly to himself and China can almost imagine the impatient South Korea tapping his foot before he exhales frustrated and starts pulling the garment off himself as his twin’s eyes go wide and he hits at him.

“ _Mapsosah!..._ We’ll be here all night,” he yelled at the same time as “what are you doing Supreme Leader will cut my television time if you ruin that!” And China just chuckles inwardly and takes the moment of Canada’s distraction to squeeze his face, watch that slightly ridiculous puckered little mouth open and lick his parted lips forcefully enough to make him freeze.

Canada’s hands balled into fists at his sides clench and unclench, damp with sweat ‘cause here he is so close and all he has to do is play his cards right walking a fine line between victory and possibly losing limbs. _Wait did he just call me a flower vase? Oh god who cares, Matthew, just shuttup already._ And China- it occurs to him belatedly for all his calculating ways- is pretty damn gorgeous and that tongue that laps at him, somewhere near the Yangtze he can tell soft rough strong all at once and he lets himself relax and drown in the depths that is one of the oldest living nations and he wonders if this is one of those things that draws South Korea. China’s human form is young, handsome, pretty bangin’ as America would say and he feels the other’s hands take his own even as his back arches, China coming even more into his space forcing the difference in their bodies to its most distinct and to his embarrassment Canada feels Prince Edward Island pressing rather insistently to China’s thigh and he really thinks a seduction ought to go more smoothly than this but those hands squeeze his even harder and it’s a crushing grip on the most primitive of levels and Canada squeaks and opens his mouth and Christ is China all over that!

Canada wonders if the condensing of all the matter of his body has somehow extended to include his nerves because he doesn’t recall his mouth being such a ridiculous erogenous zone but he can feel the heat rise to his face as China’s mouth meets his and he’s glad that China is supporting most of his weight as he leans in more, presses more insistently as that wet mouth kisses him over and over, sloppily, far less refined than he might have imagined but he definitely prefers the feel of saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, the light sheen below his lip and his arms tremble in the slightest bit because he really just wants to pull China down, tangle fingers in the long fine strands of hair coming undone from the ponytail and tickling his face and why on earth does he have to be naked while the other is still fully clothed?!

And Canada can feel his knees shaking and buckling and it occurs to him belatedly that he might in fact be sinking to the floor with China’s mouth still on his and China only lets go of his hands at the last moment before pulling back entirely and Canada winces as his knees hit the wood and he only just barely catches himself on his hands. He thinks he hears China saying something to the other two that may or may not be Chinese because he’s too busy trying to catch his breath and squirm and really how undignified would it be to just play with it a teensy tiny bit if China’s that preoccupied with the two twin nations falling back onto the small sofa with far more grace than **he’d** displayed. He has to admit even as a small streak of indignation passes through him that seeing South Korea push the _hanbock_ from his twin’s shoulders that the pale skin and slender body is really quite-

“Are you forgetting about me, _hūapíng_?”


End file.
